Follow the Leader
by The Badger Boy
Summary: Zoey can defend herself in most situations, but in the Zombie Apocalypse you have to rely on your friends as much as yourself. But when Bill takes a heavy hit, and the responsibility of Leader falls to Zoey, will she cope, or crack under pressure?
1. Assault in the Alleyway

**1 – Assault in the Alleyway**

"There's a Hunter spookin' around out there." whispered the old man cautiously, as he wiped away the sweat that trickled down from his brow, then quickly grasped his rifle again, readying it for a potential onslaught. He listened intently to the dead quiet of night, for the telltale growl which would tell him which direction the Hunter would strike from.

"Come on out, wussy!" yelled the taller man, who stood less than a yard away. He cocked his shotgun upwards, scanning the rooftops for the sneaky Hunter. He hated alleyways; but they were rarely swarming with clumps of the infected, so he didn't mind. His scan was interrupted by a sharp shove to the shoulder which knocked him forward into Bill, the old man. He turned to see his attacker, a pretty girl in a red track jacket. She faced him with annoyance in her eyes, and an overwhelming sense of anger. She pulled back a lock of brown hair from her face in an exasperated way, revealing another bruise that tainted her pretty visage.

"Do you want more Zombies to come after us, Francis?" she questioned irritably, "We are running low on ammo as it is!"

"They are Vampires, Zoey." Francis replied blatantly. Zoey opened her mouth to protest, and to say something witty about Francis' incompetent Horror movie knowledge, but was stopped in her tracks by Bill's weary intervention.

"Don't be an ass Fran-…" Started Bill, but he was cut off sharply by a deafening shriek and a dark form that collided abruptly with him. Bill was thrown to the floor and the dark form landed on top of him expertly. Francis, who had been standing closest to Bill, stumbled backwards due to the impact, dropping his shotgun and causing Zoey to go sprawling to the floor as they collided. By this time, the Hunter had pinned Bill to the floor, and had begun its unrelenting attack on the old man, clawing away at his arms and face. Bill screamed as he desperately fought the agile zombie's darting claws.

Louis had been hanging back when Bill had noticed the Hunter's approach. He was still reeling from the last time they had been mobbed down by the "ordinary" infected, and was still licking his wounds, so to speak. He had been having trouble keeping up with the others for at least 10 minutes. He was ready to ask for a breather, when Francis and Zoey had started to argue. This also meant, that when the Hunter struck, he was still standing, and was unaffected by the domino effect that had taken place. This meant that, for once, he could save the day.

He yelled "Hunter!" at the top of his lungs, and then aimed his Submachine gun at the huddled mass on the floor that resembled Bill and the Hunter. He sprinted towards them, and emptied the remaining 12 bullets left in his gun into the Hunter. Then, when he reached them, he planned to kick the aggressor off his fallen comrade and proceed to beat it to death. Before he reached his target however, he felt a thick, wet cord wrap around his upper body. It caught at his throat and started to drag him backwards rapidly.

The sound of Zoey shouting "Smoker" was dominated by the violent hacking and coughing sounds produced by the Smoker that had wrapped its abnormally long tongue around Louis. He felt his red tie pulling backwards to choke him, and the buttons on his shirt strained and pulled over his chest. The tongue constricted as Louis was dragged up the side of the building on which the Smoker had his vantage point, until his office wear shoes dangled a couple of feet off the ground. His breathing became laborious as the tongue crushed his ribs into his lungs, threatening to snap them. His vision blurred as the tongue tightened around his neck, and then everything went black.

Francis leapt to his feet and landed a heavy punch on the side of the Hunter's head, forcing him to release his grip on Bill. He wasted a valuable second frantically grasping for his secondary pistol, but it caught in its holster, and the Hunter regained its menacing posture and pounced. After a terrifying few seconds, the Hunter was upon him. The jolting force knocked him off his feet, and his head smashed into the cold concrete. Then before he had a chance to open his eyes, there was a loud bang and he felt the weight of the Hunter fly off him. He opened one eye, and peered cautiously to see Zoey standing over him with the shotgun that he had dropped earlier in the commotion. He made an effort to compliment her skill, but she was gone, blabbering on about Louis and a Smoker. It took Francis a whole 12 seconds to calculate what Zoey had said as he battled with the pain that radiated from the back of his head. Then he snapped his eyes open and sat upright quickly. There was a loud bang, followed by a wheezing cough, another bang, and then a sickening pop. Smoke filled the alley, followed by silence. Then more human coughing ensued.

Francis clambered to his feet, and desperately tried to see in front of him. He called out but didn't have enough breath in his lungs. It had all happened so fast, first the Hunter, and then Louis got taken by the smoker, then… A sudden thought dawned on him. Bill. The hunter had clawed at him for at least 20 seconds. As the smoke lingered, Francis dropped to his knees by the side of an injured Bill, both still fighting fits of coughing and suffocating in the smog that had left the pores of the deceased Smoker zombie. He used his hand to waft away the smoke from in front of Bill's face, and quickly made a rough examination of Bill's physical status. Although they had their ups and downs, Francis genuinely liked the old man, and though he didn't like to admit it, he saw him as a father figure. Francis whipped the health kit off his back and ripped the bag open manically. Bill sported multiple scathes on his face and there was a large gash on his forearm that proceeded to bleed profusely.

"Francis? Bill?" Called out Zoey from the other end of the alley, "Louis is pretty messed up!" Her silhouette became more obvious through the haze as it cleared. There was worry etched in her voice, as she called out once more into the dark. She glanced back down to see that Louis had not opened his eyes yet. She had to do something about it. She knelt down by his limp form and made sure that there were no more thick cords of wet tongue constricting him. She pulled a lengthy strip of tongue from his neck and checked his breathing. Nothing. He wasn't breathing.

Zoey called out once more, this time in panic rather than mild worry. When no reply came, she placed her hands on Louis' chest and started to perform compressions. She had no idea what she was doing, and the only experience she had with resuscitation was watching CPR on horror films. A feeling of hopelessness crept up on her as she realised how unrealistic many Horror films were. Although they had been right about the whole zombie survival thing, things definitely didn't go according to stereotypical plans. If she was in a film, Louis would wake up miraculously after a moment of heart wrenching tears and the young couple would kiss tenderly, then they would be joined by Bill and Francis who would smile gleefully. But this wasn't a film. She put her mouth to Louis' mouth, and blew air into his lungs, feeling no attraction or lust for the man dying in her arms, only a deep friendly concern.

Then there was a resistance, and Louis, reached up and grabbed Zoey's hand, ripping it away from his chest. He pushed her face off his and drew his pistol from its holster, pointing it at Zoey's head. There was a second of eerie silence, and Louis lowered his gun. Zoey nodded, and then took his hand to help him to his feet. There was no room for love, or attraction in this nightmare ridden world, only room for survival. And you needed friends to survive, as the four had found out.

Meanwhile, Francis raised Bill's torn arm in the air so he could wrap the gauze around it. He had swabbed the wound with antiseptic and Bill had simply whimpered and mumbled on about the wars and goddamn Hunter bastards. He had carried out the painful process of suturing the old man's wound closed, and Bill had confusedly asked him what had happened, and asked him who the hell he was. Francis just chuckled nervously as he miserably applied more gauze to Bills forearm. He had become an expert at using health kits since the Zombie apocalypse hit, so he wasn't doing a bad job. He was however, horribly conscious of the fact that this was their last health kit. If they didn't find another safe room with health kits soon, then they would struggle to make it out of this goddamn city.

As Francis finished the job he helped Bill off the floor, and out of the old man's freshly accumulated puddle of blood, that had gathered grotesquely, and steadied him against a wall. He shook his head to try and get rid of the thumping and pounding of pain that kept flowing from the bruise that was probably forming on the back of his head. Once Bill was standing without additional support, and breathing deeply and calmly, Francis relaxed as best he could. He still missed the weight of his shotgun and found himself wondering where it had disappeared to. As he picked his secondary pistol up off the floor, and readied in case they were surprised by another special infected, or another Horde of Zombies, he remembered suddenly that Zoey had taken his shotgun in the heat of the moment, so to speak. Memories flooded back, overwhelming the pain emanating from his head. He remembered Zoey shouting something about Louis getting nabbed by a Smoker, and the sickening pop, that had been followed by the billowing smoke. Then he realised that the noise that his pain had forced him to ignore earlier, had been Zoey calling for help. Francis panicked.

By the time Louis was on his feet and had his Submachine gun reloaded, the smoke had officially cleared. He rubbed his sore neck and took a deep breath to expand his aching lungs and chest. He could see Francis and Bill standing on the other side of the alley, next to the wall. Bill was slouched, but Francis was alert and looking directly at them. Louis saw the relief in his face that they were ok. Well, that they weren't dead at least. Francis took four long strides to reach them, and his smile changed to a scowl as he accepted his shotgun back off Zoey.

"Why'd you have to let that goddamned Smoker grab you Louis?" questioned Francis aggressively. His face had turned red, and flecks of spit had dribbled down his chin. He was very angry, mainly at himself. Louis lowered his gun and pondered whether or not it was worth the hassle to retaliate. Zoey ignored the arguing men and let her mind float across more important things. She could see that Bill was on his feet and alive, so she felt safe, but she also somewhat vulnerable now that she had given Francis his shotgun back and lost her only weapon of defence. She gave Bill a caring look as he caught her eye and she smiled when she saw that he held the dual pistols that she had dropped earlier in his hands.

"How ya' doing kid?" asked Bill in a fatherly tone. Zoey took the guns off him and holstered them. They smiled at each other for a brief moment and then she flung her arms around his neck to hug him. At first he was shocked, but then responded to the embrace, by patting her back gently. Zoey let go of him awkwardly and smiled cheerily. Her smile quickly faded when she noticed the congealing pool of blood that now resided in the spot where Bill had lay minutes before. She winced and opened her mouth to make a comment, but bit her tongue. Noticing her reaction Bill looked at the blood, then back at Zoey.

"Most a' that blood aint mine." He replied grimly. He reloaded his Assault rifle at expert speed, but his facial expression reflected the torture that his mind had gone through, not only in this apocalypse, but in the wars too. He had had a lot of practise, reorganising his mind after something horrifying or deadly had happened, but nothing ever went away. He would forever see that Hunter's eyes underneath its shadowy hood. He would forever remember the pure rage and malice that resided in those lifeless milky white sockets. But he regained his composure, mentally and physically. He would survive. His arm ached terribly when he moved it, and his face stung every time the breeze wafting through the alleys picked up. But he would be fine. He would survive. Or die trying.


	2. Passing the Torch

**2 – Passing the Torch**

"Zoey, I'm gonna check out this building for supplies. Will you watch my back?" Bill spoke gently. The request struck Zoey as a little odd, coming from Bill, since she was the one who usually got escorted by the men. She shrugged off the question and replied "Sure thing, old man" as he pushed open the back door of some restaurant, or corner shop. Bill shone his light around the room beyond the door, scanning for any hapless infected who would catch him off guard in his present state. The room was empty so he progressed further, checking the shelves of stacked boxes very carefully. Zoey stayed very close behind his back, her pistols readied.

"Seems quiet enough," Bill uttered in a satisfactory tone, as he painful lowered himself to sit on a Cardboard box that groaned under his weight. Zoey blinked several times, trying to adjust to the dim light that pooled perfectly on the floor from Bill's flash light. She looked at Bill curiously, waiting for him to speak. An awkward minute passed by, as Bill lit a cigarette and took a long drag on it. Just before the silence became too unbearable, Bill spoke.

"I'm getting too old for this horseshit." He whispered, not looking up from the floor, not wanting to meet Zoey's eyes.

"No Bill, don't say that. You're just as fast as me and the guys, and you've got a better aim than Louis." Zoey smirked at her comment, but it did nothing to hide the worry that was evident in her eyes. Was Bill giving up?

"Don't flatter me Zoey. I was too old for all this shit 15 years ago!" Bill retorted, with a hint of aggression in his voice. He tilted his head upwards, and met Zoey's eyes. She knew he was right, although it hurt her to think it. Bill could handle maybe 10 or 15 infected with just a pistol, he could run a mile without tiring, and he had felled more Tanks than Zoey had counted, as long as he had fear and adrenaline coursing through his veins. But at the end of the day, he was too old.

"I want you to take point Zoey. I need you to lead us." Bill's words were laced with passion. Zoey's eyes widened with horror at the sudden realisation of what Bill was requesting.

"No Bill! I can't do that! You are the leader and you know it. I can't lead you; I can't even keep up with you half the time!" Zoey was now exasperated.

"You have to Zoey." Bill replied.

"No! Make Francis do it! Or even Louis! Not me! Please Bill please. I'm not ready for this. I can't do this." Zoey felt like she had mentally sunk to her knees and stared at her father-figure, and mentor in this nightmare world. Why was he doing this? Why did he trust her?

"Zoey, did you even see yourself out there?" Bill looked her directly in the eyes, making her believe his words. "You took Francis' shotgun, fired it at the Hunter, killing it, and then you took out the Smoker that had Louis. And you've never even fired a shotgun before! If it hadn't been for you, we would all be dead."

Zoey's eyes darted from side to side, unsure of how to react to Bill's words. There was no denying what the old man said. "But you are our leader." She uttered hopelessly.

"Zoey, I can't lead a team in the state I'm in. You're intuition, and instincts are just the things we need to get out of this city." Bill snapped back, adamant to get his way. Zoey was silent. She contemplated Bill's advice carefully. She was almost on par with Bill, intelligence wise, and the other guys did tend to listen to her with respect. She stood up and turned away from Bill, hiding her face in the shadows.

"I'll do it. But as soon as we're out of the city, you are back in charge, promise?"

"I promise." Bill said back with truth in his voice.

"Then let's do this thing." Zoey answered back as she pushed the door open and stepped outside. Since they had gone indoors, leaving the other men outside, it had started to rain heavily, drenching Francis and Louis, doing wonders to wipe the blood and sweat off their faces and clothes. Both turned to see Zoey emerge from the doorway, pistols in hands. They looked expectant at first, but their expressions turned to scowls as Zoey shook her head, informing them that they had had no luck finding supplies in the building.

"What now, Billy-boy?" Francis called out to Bill who had emerged from the doorway holding his assault rifle in one hand. Bill didn't reply, but just averted his gaze to Zoey. Francis cocked one eyebrow and glanced at Zoey, waiting for some sort of reaction to Bill. None came. Zoey just stood there staring into the sky, thinking back to her youth, growing up in this city, trying to think of a way out.

It was ironic how Zoey had spent her entire life wanting to escape this god-forsaken city, and escape her god-forsaken parents, all for petty reasons like chores and private school, chauffeurs and motherly smothering. Now she needed to escape this city because of something a lot worse. She thought back to the time when she packed her bags and ran away from home, in her mother's best coat. She had been eight, and she had wanted to get on the subway train and head out of the city, to a little town in on the outskirts of Fairfield called Riverside, where her auntie lived. She had always loved the town, and had spent hours wandering up and down the main street. She hadn't known that the subway wouldn't take her there, and she'd been forced to get off at the city limits, in the pouring rain.

That was when the thought hit her. They could get out of the city by following the subway tracks to the city limits. The tracks were all underground, and would still have a supply of power, which was provided by an out of city generator. This meant that the lights would be on, but there would be no power to the tracks, which would have been cut in the early panic, to prevent the infection spreading. The only problem was that plenty of citizens had turned to the underground to escape the zombies, and pretty much all of them had ended up joining the legions of slavering undead, or infected, or whatever you call them. The subway could be crawling with zombies and Hunters and Smokers and Boomers and Tanks, but it was a risk they had to take.

"I think we should give up our idea of being evacuated by someone. It's been at least four days since we saw anyone alive in this city, and I don't see anyone else surviving as long as we have, immune or not. Our only hope is to leave this city, and avoid the infected." Zoey answered in a meticulous fashion. She had formulated the plan in her head and gone over it a few times before she had finally spoken.

"But what about Mercy Hospital, are we just gonna give up on it? I thought we were going to get to the helipad on top and see if we could get airlifted…" Louis asked confusedly. He rubbed has head, apparently thrown off by this sudden take charge attitude by Zoey, and by Bill's silence in the matter. This wasn't like Zoey.

Francis turned back to Louis and gave him an obvious glare. "Come on now Mr Sunshine, even you should see that that's a stupid idea! What do you suppose happens if we get to the top and the chopper isn't there?"

"I suppose. And I read a book once that said that the worst place to go in a Zombie apocalypse is a hospital, because everyone will go there to treat the infected bite marks and cuts and shit… and I'm rambling aren't I?" muttered Louis tiredly, as he rubbed at his still sore neck. They all knew how unrealistic their original plan had been. Mercy was at the center of the city, and that meant fighting their way there, then fighting to the top, then if there was no rescue, fighting their way back down and then out of the city. Zoey's new plan was much more realistic. As soon as they got out of the city, there would be hardly any Zombies to worry about.

"There's a subway station just round the corner. The Red Line South will take us to the city limits, and there we can head to the nearby town of Riverside, which apparently has held out. If it hasn't then there is a river that should have plenty of boats. From there we can take a boat up the river, to wherever this infection has been contained." Zoey spoke clearly, her mind fully functioning, finally accepting the responsibility thrown upon her.

Francis let out a loud and hearty chuckle. "Sounds like a plan Zoey," he moved forward to rest his hand reassuringly on her shoulder, "Old man, you alright with this?" Francis stared questioningly at Bill. Bill just nodded his head, showing his approval. Zoey glanced around the team quickly, making sure that everyone was ready, then she took off down the alley at a brisk walk, the others treading at her heels. She rounded the corner and fired three shots at the two zombies who were standing awkwardly in the alley, one wandering aimlessly and the other resting against a wall.

She walked past the corpses, not having the courage to look back and meet the eyes of her fellow survivors just yet. She came to the corner of the alley, realising that they would have to leave the safety of the towering dark walls that shielding them, and enter the open street which was sure to peppered with infected. Zoey held up a hand to halt the others just as Bill used to. She poked her head around the corner, and blinked her eyes as she stared in to the screamingly bright head lights of a police car. The street had about four zombies milling about, minding their own business. Through the glare of the headlights, Zoey noticed the piles of infected bodies lying on the floor, all with bullet holes through their flesh. They all faced the car, as if the were running at it when they died.

Zoey turned back to the three expectant men and held up four fingers to indicate the amount of Zombies. She then lowered one finger at a time, clamping them into her hand until there was one finger left. Then she spun round the corner and fired shots indiscriminately into the light of the car which made it difficult to get a good shot. The others followed suit, but were blinded by the light. It caused no inconvenience however, as Zoey felled the four zombies with a full clip from her right hand gun. She also managed to pop the light bulb in the cars left head light. She checked to make sure there were no more zombies and then popped the second head light, plunging the street into semi-darkness.

When the lights went out, the survivors noticed four corpses that were slumped around the car, facing outwards, into the fallen horde. They were different to the infected that littered the street around them. They were people. Their skin was pinker than the infected, not a dull greenish grey hue. On closer inspection they held guns in their hands and all had bruises on their skin and claw marks on their arms and sides, and clothes. Zoey almost gagged, but held back the reflex and advanced towards the four fallen survivors.

Two young men sat almost upright, slumped against the car, each with an M-16 in hand. They were almost identical except for the green t-shirted one, who sported a large gash on the side of his face that ran through his mouth and down his neck with dried blood trailing away from it. The other twin had a large bruise on his jaw, and his neck was bent awkwardly. Zoey glanced over to see a third man lying face down, with a semi-automatic shotgun just inches away from his outstretched hand. He was older, and wore a heavy parka jacket. A thick pink tongue was wrapped loosely around him and trailed away, leading Zoey's gaze to a dead Smoker who had apparently fallen from the roof. There were deep gashes in the man's back, one deep enough to expose part of his spine. Apparently, something had alerted the horde, who had sprinted to the group for survivor's location, and it had been a massive attack from all sides which had overwhelmed the survivors. Zoey couldn't hep but feel bitter as she realised that it was probably the Smoker's interference that changed the battle in favour of the infected.

"Take what you can, but be gentle." Zoey spoke quietly to her friends, trying to maintain a level of respect. The first time she had had to loot a group of dead immunes, she had been violently sick, and they had all felt a deep and horrible guilty depression afterwards. It had taken two horde attacks and a violent tank encounter to shake them out of it. But now they took it in their stride, realising that these people no longer had need for these weapons, and they told themselves that by killing zombies with their magazines and shells, they were commemorating their memories.

Zoey shook her head to shake herself free of such thoughts. She looked up to the roof of the car, where the fourth victim of the horde lay. She sighed as the men went to work on the other three corpses, removing grenades, magazines, shot gun shells and weapons. She heard Francis say an few respectful words over the dead parka wearer, as he picked up the Semi-Automatic shotgun from the floor and weighed it up. Bill and Louis had begun to remove the magazines from the twin's pockets, and Louis had picked up an M-16, and started loading another clip into it.

Zoey pulled herself up onto the bonnet of the police car and shuffled closer to the final corpse. She pulled herself onto her knees, and looked directly at the dead girls face. She had known she was female from the moment she noticed the fallen four, but hadn't known she was so pretty. She had flowing long blonde hair that flickered in the wind and her features were elegant and chiselled, giving her the air of a supermodel. She was bout Zoey's age, and sported larger breasts and a smaller waste than the already petit college girl. Zoey felt a minor wave of jealousy but shook herself of it, before she thought something she would regret. The woman's body was the freshest of the four, blood still seeping from the wound on her abdomen.

Zoey wrenched her eyes away from the glamour model's appearance, and turned her attention to the weapons that lay about on the roof of the car. It had clearly been the place of last stand for the girl, and she noticed that the hunting rifle that had killed so many of the infected that lay in the streets belonged to her. Zoey picked it up, and felt its weight carefully and steadily. The girl had a small backpack to her side that was filled with hunting rifle rounds. Zoey was unsure whether she would be able to handle this gun effectively, but her actions with Francis' shotgun itched away in her mind. She was about to make her decision when she heard a faint gurgling sound. She registered it in her head, but didn't know what to think, until she realised that it was a Boomer. She spun round in time to see the fat silhouette emerge from the shadows of the alley where they and first came from.

Zoey howled its name, as she hastily slammed a fresh clip into the rifle in her hands. She pointed the gun in the obese zombie's direction, but it was too late. The Boomer belched and craned its neck forward, opening its maw to project a horrific stream of dark green vomit, that cascaded in the air majestically and then fell with a splash onto Bill, Louis and Francis. Zoey panicked slightly and fired a shot from her newfound Hunting Rifle, the bullet connecting with the Boomer's puss-ridden flesh, causing a dramatic change in pressure, forcing the Boomer's turgid skin to burst, showering the walls and street with slime, bile, and intestines.


	3. Clutching at Straws

**3 – Clutching at straws**

Bill, Louis and Francis all stumbled backwards clawing at their faces trying to rub the puke from their eyes. Zoey wrinkled her nose as he eyes watered from the putrid smell of the Boomer's hazardous vomit which excreted pungent hormones on contact with human flesh. The Zombies would be drawn to the smell like flies to a rotting carcass. Zoey's eyes flicked up and down the street as she heard the howl and thunderous footsteps the horde of infected closing in on their location. There were three entry points to their location; the alley from which they came, and both directions of the street. The noises grew louder, prompted Zoey to take action. She barked a series of instructions to the older and more physically fit men, while she squinted down the supermodel's rifle scope. The Horde were rushing down from the side of the street where they were heading, and through a wrought iron barrier, she could see more heading their from the other direction, all swarming at the government barrier, and clambering over each other to climb the fence and reach their delicious prey.

Zoey slid down onto the bonnet of the police car, so she wouldn't be clambering over the dead girl who lay on the roof, and dropped to one knee. She once again squinted down the scope and started to pick off at infected who were pulling themselves up over the top of the barricade. She was almost used to the rocketing backwards of the rifle, although it hurt her shoulder slightly each time, and she was doing a good job of holding off any emerging over the top of the fence. Louis fired an entire magazine into a cluster of zombies racing down the alley tripping over each other in rage and excitement. All dropped to the floor except one, whom Francis threw back onto the "deceased" pile with one blast of his new shotgun.

"Now THIS is a Shotgun I can love!" bellowed Francis, before he turned and met a rush of infected from the unblocked end of the street with four barks from his shotgun. Bill fired more bullets from his rifle into the crowd that raced down the street and Zoey spun and took out four stragglers with a head shot each. A small smile danced across her lips, that were sore and chapped from nights spent in the cold and rain, and punches from infected that almost took out her teeth. But she was almost happy, and that was what counted. Under her leadership they were fighting the horde of better than she thought they would, and at this rate, with new guns, they may actually get out of the city alive. She could see that the men had managed to rid their faces of any bile that blinded them and distracted them, which was definitely good.

Zoey quickly looked around to see which survivor needed support, and noticed a heftily sized horde rushing down the alley they had emerged from, and heading towards Louis and Bill. Bill had seen the infected and already had his assault rifle roaring back at them. But Louis was totally oblivious and was still picking off the occasional zombie that hopped the fence type barricade. Zoey raised the rifle and printed it towards the rushing infected horde, but before she had fired more than three rounds there was a hacking cough, and a pink chord-like tongue obscured her vision briefly as it sped past her towards Francis.

Francis let out a rasping sound as the chord slung itself around the biker's midsection and pulled him away from the car towards the opposite side of the street, from where the Horde were flowing from. Zoey spun, desperately trying to find the Smoker who was attempting to kill turn the tables, just as the one who had killed the parka wearer had done. Zoey followed the path of the tongue, to see a Smoker standing on the sidewalk leaning away from Francis in an effort to reel him in. Zoey made short work of him, with two tactically placed shots to end its miserable little existence. As soon as the tongue went limp, Francis threw it off himself and sprung back to his position.

"Take that!" Zoey exclaimed with a childish enthusiasm, which was infectious to the others when they weren't being attacked. She absently watched the smoke slow form the dead Smoker and carry quickly and effectively across the whole of the street, towards the survivors. Suddenly she was snapped out of her trance by Louis shouting for Bill to watch out. Before Zoey could spin back around, Bill cried out in agony and there was a clatter of guns and magazines falling to the floor. Zoey spun and frantically eyed the situation with rising fear.

Zombies were swarming around the car and the other survivors. Bill was on his knees in front of the car and the infected were beating on him. He was managing to punch away at some of the infected with his good arm, but his injured arm was quivering and shaking from pain and spasms. Louis and Francis were killing the remaining zombies that rushed down the alley was towards them, and the loud constant gunfire made it difficult to focus. Zoey ruthlessly killed the three infected who were attacking Bill, ignoring the dull ache in her shoulder that panged every time the rifle gave a kick. Bill fell to his all fours with a groan, and grasped urgently at his weapon that lay on the floor. He yanked it from underneath the car, and gabbed a magazine that had fallen, jamming it into the gun and pointed it down the alley, to killed the last clump of infected that were racing to scrap, a little late to stand a chance of getting a punch or kick in.

Zoey leapt off the car, and pulled Bill to his feet carefully. She put a hand on each side of his face and made him look into her eyes. She quickly, yet ineffectively evaluated the pain that he was experiencing, just as he normally did for her.

"What happened guys?" Zoey questioned confoundedly, yet what a hint of anger in her voice. Louis avoided eye contact with her, and Francis just shrugged.

"After you saved my ass from that goddamn Smoker, Bill was on the floor, I didn't see-…" Francis spoke arrogantly but was interrupted by Bill's pain riddled words.

"Goddamn zombie managed to punch me in my arm." Bill muttered. "Sick sons' of bitches…"

"Looks like you're on more pain than you were letting on." whispered Zoey, gently. She supported Bill as she moved him to sit on the bonnet of the car to catch his breath. She turned to Francis and Louis, and beckoned them both closer.

"That building there is my father's old Lawyer firm. On the first floor, just behind the desk, there is a room with a medicine cabinet. I want you two to go in there and find some pills for Bill here." Zoey ordered. The men looked at each other confused. "Get to work!" shouted Zoey angrily.

Bill shifted uneasily on the car, wincing form the pain in his arm. He hadn't felt pain like this since a Tank threw him out the second story window of a residential house, through a sheet of glass and into a tree outside. Luckily, now, the pain was concentrated in his arm, not all over.

"Ya did good out there kid." Said Bill reassuringly, to try and relieve some of Zoey's panic, as she eyed the dark corners of the street carefully. She smiled, and it made him smile as well. He caught himself wishing that he had settled down with the love of his life, and had kids, like Zoey, who he could have watched grow up. The pain in his arm didn't let the thoughts dwell.

After a few awkward and suspenseful minutes, Francis and Louis returned, with a med kit, and three tubs of pain killers. Louis held out the med kit to Bill, but he waved it away, so Louis slung it onto his back and secured it with back pack straps. Francis tossed a tub of pills at Zoey and she popped them open and handed them to Bill. Francis then threw the other in her direction and they both holstered the tubs, as Bill chugged his entire tub. He then pulled himself carefully to his feet and held up his gun and rested it in his grip comfortably. The pills had already started to take effect, and the ache racing through Bill's arm, was little more than an annoyance now.

Zoey took off down the street at lightning pace. She had switched from her rifle to her pistols, and held them at the ready, not quite at ease, but not quite on full alert. She was followed By Louis who was shyly struggling to keep his newly discovered full automatic, yet extremely heavy weapon, held to his shoulder. He tried to hide his embarrassment by looking straight ahead and shifting the weight of the gun from hand to hand. Francis stood to the side of Louis, smirking at his sign of weakness. He held his new shotgun in one hand, with ease and rested the barrel in his other hand every so often, when they heard a screeching noise, or a scuttling infected in the distant. Bill followed at the rear, so the group wouldn't be able to see how much pain he was experiencing in his arm. He held his trusty assault rifle in both hands, steadily, showing no signs of struggle, being already fully accustomed to its weight and balance.

The path to the subway station was fairly quiet, with only three infected standing around a car at the top of stairs leading underground. Zoey smacked the first one in the back of its head with the but of her pistol, which was followed by Francis shooting the other infected who reacting to the faint thwack. The third infected was currently sitting on the floor holding her head in agony, but when she heard Francis' shotgun bang, she looked up in shock, angered by the sudden disturbance. All shock and anger that quickly played across her face was placed by a deep pure rage that screwed up her facial features so they looked like those of a rabid dog. She quickly ripped herself to her feet, and shook her arms violently before taking one great lunging stride to get to the survivors and dash their brains across the pavement.

Bill gently squeezed the trigger of his rifle, and sent shards of the woman zombie's skull scattering in all directions. Zoey wiped a smear of blood from her face, and the four survivors quickly jogged down the steps to a storage room that consisted mainly of tipped over shelves, scattered empty boxes, and piles of deceased infected. They were all crowded around a sturdy looking metal door with red paint splattered over it desperately. The door was swung open, but something seemed a little out of place. The door was bent as if something had beaten open the door; something big, strong and infected.

"Hopefully we'll find some supplies in the safe room." muttered Zoey wearily.

"Shit I could do with some tidy stuff for my head. Jeez' it still hurts like hell!" whined Francis. The four survivors stepped over the dead infected and wandered purposefully into the safe room. None were prepared for what they saw.

The first thing they saw as they stepped into the room was a great hulking mass the dominated the room. It was larger than any Tank they had seen and was far too misshapen. As far as they could see, there were three arms and more than two legs. Zoey could only see one head but was unsure due to dark and blinking light than showered the occasional spurts of light across the hulking monstrosity. Two horrible seconds of paralyzing fear passed harshly by, until Bill spoke fearlessly and loudly.

"They are both dead. Nothing to worry about people." he said, as he ventured further in to the room, kicking magazines and spare shotgun shells about the floor idly. Francis and Louis sighed with relief and walked further into the room, although more cautiously than Bill. Zoey just stood there, next to the dilapidated safe room door that, on closer inspection, had three of four large fist holes in it. She blinked once more, still afraid to venture into the broken safe room. She made a confused sound, crossed her eye brows, and pursed her lips. Bill Spun around looked over to Zoey.

"It's two Tanks Zoey, they must have been trying to get whoever was in here, but killed each other in the process." Spoke Bill, in a matter of fact tone.

Zoey found the light switch with her hand and flicked it off then on again, illuminating the thing properly. As she did this, Bill kicked one Tank, rolling it over and away from the other. Now Zoey could see in the clear light, that the hulking mass was in fact two Tanks, which explained the broken down safe room door, which normally didn't allow Tanks to enter due to their sturdiness. Zoey chuckled nervously, mentally punching herself for her own stupidity. "Anything we can use?" she questioned, trying her best to bite back any of her good old fashioned geeky college girl remarks.

The men just shake their heads, as they search the floor for fallen magazines and shells that scattered the floor after the table that probably held the ammo, was overturned. In most safe rooms they encountered, they usually found three or four health kits, but not this time. The "out" door for the safe room was wide open, and it too was bent outwards, and probably wouldn't close properly. There would be no rest for the survivors in this safe room, it was secure and they could flood by the infected, and quickly killed. Zoey made up her mind, and marched swiftly to the door, not looking back to see if the others were following her. As she exited she shot down an infected that was leaning against a wall, and then moved on swiftly.

The room she entered had a large hole in the floor form some kind of explosion. Most likely gas had leaked form the pipelines and someone had fired a gun in here, igniting the inferno. The fire had died down by now, allowing Zoey to drop down gently and dart off into a patch of shadow that led to the steps just within site. She pressed her back against a wall and stared back apprehensively from where she had come from. The men were still in the safe room, and hadn't noticed her disappearance, leaving Zoey in a very vulnerable position.

She could see that the room underneath the room she had come from was shrouded in pitch black darkness, but every now and then, she could see a milky white figure move in and out of the light. If she called out to her team mates, the infected would be drawn to her position like flies. She would be stuck here until one of the men noticed her absence and acted on impulse. A painful minute passed and Zoey stood there, breathing heavily yet quietly, ready to unload a hunting rifle round into any infected who so much as looked at her funny.

"Zoey? You down there?" shouted Louis from the doorway of the safe room. The first reply he received was a sort of unintelligible screech that came from the darkness. This was followed by several other screeches, which emanated from the darkness, sending shivers down Zoey's spine. After a moment had passed, four or five silhouettes emerged from the darkness, rapidly, all sprinting around aimlessly. Zoey hoped that they wouldn't spot her in her hiding place, but lo and behold, they did. Before Zoey could react, a cluster of infected were racing towards her, all intent on murdering her painfully.

Zoey was faced with three options; Fright, Fight, or Flight. Since nothing scared any of the infected, not even gasoline and flames, and since Zoey knew that she wouldn't be able to kill this many infected in such a short time, there was only one option available. She ran. Her converse sneakers flew down the subway steps like two foxes, running for their lives away form a pack of hungry hounds. As she ran she slung her rifle on her back and pulled out one pistol, firing wildly behind her. Over the screeches and shouts of the angry mob of infected that tailed her, Zoey could hear her friends shouting out and chasing the infected. But as she ran, the anguished screams of the infected drowned out her team mates questioning calls. The infected closed in on her, reaching out with blood soaked hands and teeth. Zoey felt their breath on the back of her neck as she ran aimlessly for her life.


	4. Going Underground

**4 – Going Underground **

Zoey's feet missed several of the escalator steps that led down to the main control area of the station. She stumbled as she reached the bottom, but managed to regain her balance and avoid the clawing hand that reached out to pull her back. The one thing Zoey noticed as she glanced about was more zombies that milled about carelessly. Each one in turn, spun their heads round to look at the performing spectacle unfolding in front of them. Then, each in turn, joined the struggle to kill the frightened college girl.

With roughly twenty zombies tailing Zoey, surrounding her from all angles, she had only one choice. She glanced to the side and saw a ticket controller's toll booth, which had a broken window. Reacting quickly she fired four shots into the infected surrounding her, then leapt over the counter into the booth forcing the infected to pile in from one opening. Zoey managed to whip the hunting rifle off her back and kill seven or eight zombies that tried to climb through the window to get her, before the door behind her, leading out of the booth, clanged loudly as some of the infected tried to break it down. Zoey fired four shots quickly through the door, ceasing the efforts of the zombies, and spun back round to face the window and push three infected back out before they managed to do any damage. Knowing she didn't have enough time to reload, Zoey ripped the pistol from its holster and fired all fifteen rounds into the remaining Zombies. There was an eerie silence that allowed Zoey to pant and puff to regain her exerted energy and oxygen.

Suddenly there was a screech and the window to Zoey's right smashed, sending through its scattering and dancing shards, a deadly Hunter. It pushed Zoey sideways and forced her to the floor of the control booth, by simply falling on top of her and latching on to her with his strong yet vicious hands. Just as Zoey hit the floor, the Hunter raised its hands in the air in triumph, and just as he was about to bring them down, a burst of rifle fire flung him to the side, where he slumped, dead.

Zoey breathed, snatching air into her lungs desperately. She plucked a large shard of class from her hand and wiped off the excess blood on her jacket. She grabbed her pistol reloaded it, and placed it back in her holster carefully. She then reloaded her hunting rifle, and then decided to pull herself to her feet. She pushed open the almost broken down door of the control booth and scowled. The others eyed her cautiously, and nervously approached her. Each of the men was afraid of what this small, young and vulnerable college girl would do if she was angry at them.

"Let's move, you idiots!" Zoey said, not shouting but allowing her voice to carry across the subway. As she regained her composure, she looked around and noticed something she hadn't noticed before. All around the subway, packed against the whitewashed walls were piles and piles of dead bodies. All dead from bullet holes, bludgeoning, and anything those survivors had resorted to fight of the infected hordes. Zoey felt sick, and almost heaved as she allowed herself to focus on the smell of rotting flesh, but regained herself. She thought of what Bill had said to her after the Hunter had attacked him. Then she took a brisk pace, as she marched to the escalator on the other side of the room.

"Let's find these goddamn subway tracks." She muttered. She started to jog, working off the excess stress and annoyance at the men, who were supposed to be watching her back. All she could see was red, which helped her ignore the fact that she was wrong in running off on her own. She just carried on running through the customer services areas of the subway station, eventually finding ascending stairs with a sign indicating that the tracks were this way. She calmed herself and started leaping up the steps, taking two or even three at a time, which was an accomplishment given her size and height. She reached the top of the stairs and began to study the environment to locate zombie threats and possible passageways out of here.

The sight that awaited her and her team mates at the top of the escalator would be almost unbearable for a mere mortal, but after the things Zoey had seen, she was able to take it in her stride. She took a deep breath, and gulped down the lump forming in her throat. She felt Louis gasp close behind her ear, taken aback by the destruction. His hand grasped the rail to steady himself and he had to avert his eyes. Francis nudged him playfully and teasingly as he pushed past to pick off any lurking threats. He chuckled as he fired three bullets from his secondary pistol at a lone infected woman in business attire who was leaning against the nearest wall.

Bill followed suit, scoping out the area, with cold hardened eyes, as he picked off an infected in the distance who had noticed their presence. Both men had already been in a few post apocalyptic subway stations, unlike Louis who had been in none, so they were prepared and knew that zombies in the shadows were the biggest threat. Zoey had only been in one wrecked station, so although nothing was new to her, she still couldn't help but be stunned and struggled to take it all in with out suffocating in the gloom.

The first thing you noticed was the smell. It was evident even before you saw where it came from. It was the smell of piles and piles and piles of dead bodies, which were shunted and stacked against the walls in urgent and unorganised ways, in an attempt to stay way from "diseases" they carried. Many bodies were of children, who hadn't been able to handle the infection as it hit their blood stream, but there were many men and women, of different appearances and heights, and shapes and sizes. Most had blood pooling around them from bullet holes to the head.

This showed survivors who passed through at later stages of the apocalypse, such as these, that the survivors who weren't immune to the disease had fled to the subway stations to escape from the infected, and when they had been refused passage, they had refused to leave. Many had hunkered down, building barricades and sharing supplies. Many didn't leave the station, and remained here now, wandering aimlessly about the wreckage, brainlessly and rabidly, waiting for an uninfected survivor to chance upon them so they could tear their throat out and dash their brains across the floor.

Zoey observed the chunks of concrete that had been ripped form the floor and thrown across the room, either from explosions and grenades, or by Tanks who just didn't play nice. A section of the wall had been blown away to reveal a large gas pipe that was still leaking fire, and a concrete support column had snapped in two, leaving one half laying on the tracks like a fallen soldier. The main attraction of the subway however, was a fallen three compartment subway train that had stopped, or been stopped, smack bam in the middle of the tracks. The first compartment that was to the far right, was still standing upright, and so it was only different to a normal subway train because it was pitch black inside because it's power cables were cut. It also had dark crimson blood splattered over the sides and windows.

The second train compartment was tottering diagonally on its side, not quite upright, but not quite lying flat, somewhere in between. The only thing stopping it from falling to the floor was a chunk of concrete that looked like it was about to crumble. The windows were also completely black and there was little blood on the outside, but Zoey could see a hand hanging out of one of the windows, and blood was dripping off the finger. The infected that had died around it, were reaching out for the train compartment, which probably meant that there had been survivors inside, with weapons. And that meant that there would be supplies and ammo inside.

The third and final train compartment lay flat on its side, with the wheels jutting directly out towards Zoey and her team. It had been totally toppled. It had splattered blood across the sides like the other parts of the train, but there was something different about it. Zoey cocked her head to the side, and squinted in concentration, staring at the train. Then the tip of a head was visible, sticking through one of the windows. It bobbed up and down a few times, and then sprung upwards, but fell fast. Zoey chuckled as she heard a groan and a gurgle, realising what was trapped in the train compartment.

"Bill, you take the far compartment, Louis, the middle, me and Francis are gonna sort this mess out. There's bound to be supplies." instructed Zoey, pointing to the train compartments in turn, her mouth twisted into a smirk. She motioned to Francis with her fingers, and hopped down off the platform, onto the tracks. She was thankful that the electricity was still being fed to the light sources, which washed the tracks in an eerie, flickering glow, but was thankful that the electricity to the actual tracks had been cut off. The last thing they needed was electrocution.

"So Zoey, what mess are we gonna clean up? I ain't doing it if it's not gonna be fun." Francis said boisterously; as he dropped down effortlessly from the platform.

"Oh it's gonna be fun all right." flirted Zoey, as she flashed Francis her devilish college girl grin. Before he could blush, Zoey had pushed herself up onto the next platform, on the opposite side of the tracks, and picked off a zombie lying on the floor, before he realised what was approaching him. She then glanced over the side of the darkened train compartment, and chuckled as she saw the poor defenceless Boomer, that had most likely waddled in to kill a helpless survivor, and then found that he was unable to climb back out. Francis leapt up onto the platform, and then made his way over to Zoey.

"What's so great then?" Francis grunted arrogantly. His voice alerted the Boomer that was trapped, and he jerked his fat head upwards, and winked his one operational eye that wasn't obscured by a large pustule. He let out a loud, horrible, and angry gurgle, and then opened his maw to spew over the survivors. But Zoey was ready, and she jumped to the side, pushing Francis with her. The vomit spewed out to the train window, and splattered over the platform, narrowly missing Francis. Zoey scrambled to her feet, smiling wildly.

"Did he get you?" she asked Francis eagerly. He shrugged and shook his head. Zoey's smile widened and she walked over to stare at the boomer once more. When it saw her, it gagged once more, and jerked his head about, trying to release some kind of vomit. When none came out, he tried to jump upwards, and reach out for Zoey. But his efforts were in vain, and he settled back down on the train floor, trying to scratch out of the side. Zoey was entranced by the Boomer's captivity, and wanted to watch him for a bit more, but she knew she had to kill him before he spewed again.

"Yes! Survivors, 1, Boomer, 0!" shouted Francis in mock triumph, his scowl transforming into a wide, and mad smile. The Boomer gurgled once more, and jumped up to try and scratch Francis, but he just smacked at the Boomer with his shotgun.

"So, I guess we got to kill it then." Francis muttered his smile fading. He cocked his head to the side, trying to think of something interesting to do with the Boomer. Zoey spun her head round, and eyed Francis with uncertainty.

"Or? We could just leave him here!" Zoey answered annoyance present in her voice. But she knew it was ridiculous. If the Boomer was on the outside, and Zoey was inside, he would vomit on her and watch legions of the infected skin her alive and eat her. Why show mercy? Why be nice to something that wanted to murder you?

"Shut the hell up Zoey!" Francis argued, his face twisted in incredulous anger. "These fat vampires are out to get us!"

Zoey dropped her gaze, and stared absently at the floor. She was a leader now, and she couldn't show mercy. Bill would have shot the Boomer as soon as he had heard it, without even a second thought, so why shouldn't Zoey? As much as it pained her to say it, Zoey had to admit that if she wanted to survive the zombie apocalypse, she had to leave her heart behind, or at least in her pocket. She took a step backwards, and then nudged Francis further back with her small elbow. She cocked both pistols, and aimed them at the Boomer who was now dribbling bile from his mouth, and gagging, preparing himself to puke. Francis shifted impatiently, and started to tap the butt of his shotgun against the floor.

"Go see if Bill needs a hand. I can't get anything done otherwise!" Zoey spoke sharply and venomously to Francis, sending him on his way towards Bill and Louis. He grumbled something about leadership going to Zoey's head and trotted away, swinging his shotgun up to a suitable position. Zoey ignored the jealous biker, and returned her attention to the Boomer.

"I'm kind of sorry, if that means anything to you." Zoey whispered to the Boomer, and fired three pistol shots into his stomach, causing the hydrostatic pressure to drastically change within the Boomer's fat form. His face transformed from aggressive and angry, to scared and hurt, before he totally exploded, decorating the walls with bile and innards. Zoey leapt backwards, and eyed her handiwork, all guilt over the Boomer disappearing. She holstered her second pistol, and held her right hand pistol up to the light pooling from an overhead lighting pole. She savoured the silence. Tranquillity washed over her, as she freed her mind from all thoughts of the helpless Boomer. For the first time since the Apocalypse started, Zoey felt content, and calm.

But as they say, all good things must come to an end. Zoey heard the rumbling and quaking ground, before she heard the earth shattering roar. In competition with the roar, Zoey could hear Francis' gruff voice echo through the subway, and she heard Bill curse in his own gritty voice. Louis' voice was next, not as loud as the others, and slightly higher and cleaner. Zoey heard what he said perfectly, and her eyes wrenched open, and she spun on her heel, drawing her second pistol. She had already guessed that there was a Tank attacking the team, but Louis' anguished shout had spurred her into action, and she sprinted towards the noises.

As Zoey leapt off the platform, onto the tracks, the huge beast came into view. It was a huge hulking mass, with large muscles bulging on its tree trunk arms, and its enormously sized meaty hands. The deathly grey skin that was stretched across its huge chest and arms, was pock marked and shredded in places by the roaring gunfire that was now directed at it. Blood sprinkled from its skin, and caused it to grunt angrily in discomfort. Zoey fired a couple of shots into the Tank's small face, landing a shot directly in its mouth, which was barley visible over the muscle that covered it.

Louis had found an effective vantage point from within the standing train compartment, from which he was shredding away the Tank's flesh with his new assault rifle. It rattled his body and shook his arms violently, and when his clip was spent, he had to lower his gun to pant and puff. The Tank was being lured about by Francis, who was running around the place, hopping over the tracks, and darting and ducking punches. Bill was close behind the Tank, chasing him, and expertly aiming for the Tank's spine. Zoey continued to fire shots at the huge thing, but felt apprehensive for Francis, who was in a very vulnerable position. Zoey was by far the fastest and most agile member of the group, so it was usually her who got chased by the Tank, and made sure it kept focussed on her. Francis was heavy, muscular, and slow. The Tank was gaining on him very fast.

The Tank quickly spun backwards and lunged his hand outwards, to swat at Bill, who was currently tearing its back open. Bill dodged backwards, but the Tank managed to catch the end of his M-16, ripping it from Bill's grip, and sending agonising pain through Bill's wounded arm. Bill grasped his arm and panted and gasped, struggling against the pain. The Tank was about to land a second more painful blow on the old man, when Francis fired several shots from his Automatic Shotgun.

The Tank roared in agony, and then spun backwards towards his original target. Francis' eyes widened in terror as the Tank swung his huge arm towards him. There was a sickening crunch as the Tank's hand made contact with Francis' abdomen. The hand carried on its motion path, taking Francis' chest and gut with it, but throwing his head, arms, and legs, in the Tanks direction, draping him over the Tank's fist for a brief moment. Then the arrogant biker was thrown from the fist, into the air, where he gracefully pirouetted, cart wheeled, and finally smacked into the wall, with yet another sickening crunch. The biker's shotgun clattered to the ground, and lay on the tracks motionless.


	5. The Mad Dash

**5 – The Mad Dash**

Zoey uttered a terrified scream as she watched Francis' lifeless body slide down the wall, and settle in a corpse like position. Zoey's eyes flicked back and forth manically. To her left, Bill had managed to get inside the train compartment that Louis had occupied, but had collapsed, and was writhing round in agony, clutching his arm. Louis had dropped his gun in horror, and was trying to get Bill back to his feet. To Zoey's right, the Tank was clambering up onto the platform, where Francis was slumped against the wall, still motionless, with blood gushing from a cut along his forehead. After a moment of intense panic, Zoey reacted quickly, on impulse.

She simultaneous holstered both pistols, and ran towards the Tank's location. It had hoisted one of its legs onto the platform and was pushing its mass up onto it, ending up on the track in a standing position. As soon as it had hit the ground it began to lunge towards Francis, taking long aggressive strides towards the motionless figure that lay on the ground, helpless. Zoey knew in an instant that she had to kill the Tank, or Francis would be dead; if he wasn't already.

Zoey leapt up onto the platform in one athletic bound. She steadied herself and reached over her shoulder to grasp onto the barrel of her hunting rifle. As the Tank reached Francis and raised both enormous arms above his head with the intention of crushing Francis' face into the tiled walls, Zoey put her plan into motion. She unhooked the rifle from her back and spun it in a wide arc; swinging it over her head and into the back of the Tank's leg. As the Tank had turned to land the lethal punch on Francis, Zoey had noticed that the back of one of his knees had been shredded by bullets from Louis or Bill's assault rifles. This weakness was her only chance in saving Francis, so she took it.

The Tank whimpered in pain as its knee bent, and it had to halt his impending attack, to steady itself with his bulldozer fists. Zoey panicked as she realised that her rifle was now wedged between the two enveloping mounds of muscle that had closed together when the Tank's knee collapsed. The Tank spun to face her, with a little trouble, but his large arms supported him as he twisted his body grotesquely. Its milky white lifeless eyes focussed on the small girl and she could have sworn that a sinister smirk danced across the monster's face face. Zoey released her grip on the rifle, and hastily backed away, fear stopping her basic thought process. She waited for the roaring gunfire from behind her to start shredding away at the Tank's flesh, showering her in flesh and blood, but it didn't happen. There was a moment of petrifying silence before the Tank lunged at her and struck out with one of his huge arms.

Zoey managed to leap backwards, but caught her foot on the edge of the platform, and fell backwards onto the tracks. There was a moment of weightlessness, as she fell downwards from the fairly high platform, but then she abruptly hit the floor. As she fell she heard two distinct screams, and then a sickening thwack as her head hit the metal tracks. Then there it went dark.

She heard a scream again, and it shook her out of her stupor. She tilted her head backwards from her position on the tracks, and her vision reached out to Bill and Louis. Then she saw the reason why she hadn't received help when battling the Tank. Louis was slumped over the side of the train cart, his hands reaching out of the windows and his head resting on the sill. His face bore a large scratch, and there was a glass shattered on the floor around him, hinting that he had gone face first through the already weakened window. Behind Louis, she saw Bill, and in front of him was a Hunter. It must have been the reason for one of the screams she had heard. She realised now that the other scream must have been her own. She blinked her eyes and saw that the old man was currently wrestling with the Hunter, and seemed to be winning the battle, but only just.

Then a deafening roar, deeper and more aggressively passionate than the Hunter's scream, found its way to Zoey and the pain came flooding in. She had somehow managed to keep it at bay until that moment, but it rushed at her, and almost overwhelmed her. The back of her head was throbbing with pain, and she felt like blood was gushing from it. Her eyes hurt when she moved them about her head, and her neck hurt when she moved it. She felt like she couldn't move, and panic set in, but it didn't last long, as she was spurred into action by another roar that forced her to find her way to her feet. Her legs felt fine, and so did her arms, but she was winded from her impact with the ground, and her head was giving her intense pain.

She looked back up to the platform expecting to see a splattered Francis, but instead, she saw that the Tank's attention was still on her. It had managed to pull itself to its feet, and was lumbering over the edge of the platform, using its huge fists to support itself. Its eyes focussed on Zoey once again, and it let out another bloodthirsty roar. Zoey panicked, took a pistol out of its holster, and ran down the tracks as fast as she could, occasionally turning and firing wildly at the Tank, ensuring it's full concentration. The Tank dashed after her, keeping up with her, and almost reaching her.

As it got too close Zoey leapt back up onto the next platform which was way out of view of the other survivors. She battled another wave of panic as she realised that she would have to take down this beast on her own. The Tank followed her up onto the platform, but was slowed down by its encumbering weight. Zoey looked to the side, and saw that in the middle of the tracks, laid another overturned train compartment. She took the risk, and leapt from the platform to the train compartment and steadied her self. The Tank however, was just as quick as she was, and it leapt back down off the platform, and began its descent back up onto the train compartment where Zoey had taken refuge.

Zoey let out a choked cry, and started running away from the Tank, leaping back down onto the tracks, and rolling on impact, making sure to avoid the metal parts that had inflicted so much damage on her earlier. She bit back the pain as her neck clicked and her head throbbed. Her feet pounded on the floor, her ankles straining. Her ponytail bobbed up and down teasingly, and the Tank roared in rage. It leapt off the previous train compartment and landed on the floor with an enormous crash. Zoey almost lost her balance as the very ground beneath her shook. Her eyes were filled with agonising fear as she glanced back to see that the Tank was ripping a chunk of concrete out of the side of the platform.

As Zoey ducked behind a pillar she breathed heavily, waiting for the impact. There was a sudden crash and the pillar behind Zoey gave way. Debris showered onto Zoey as she leapt forward, almost out of harms way. A rock the size of the college girl's fist hurtled though the air, and made contact with Zoey's back. She was thrown forward but managed to stay on her feet. She once again glanced fearful behind herself, and saw the Tank emerging from the falling debris. In a futile attempt to slow the beast down, Zoey fired a few more shots into it, as she caught her breath. As Zoey had predicted, this did nothing to quell his rage, and it came lumbering towards her, its huge hands battering the floor. Pain now laced her body from the wound on her head to the area where the rock had collided with.

Gasping for more air to enter her lungs, Zoey sprinted further down the tracks, adrenaline pumping through her, forcing her legs to pump faster and faster. She fired two shots into an idle zombie that had just started to notice her presence, and then glanced around once more to see the Tank, and relaxed slightly when she saw that he was further away than the last time she checked. She was still worried though, because she would never be able to outrun the Tank, and if she did, how would she survive long enough to get back to her team.

As Zoey turned a corner she realised that a tunnel lay straight ahead of her. It looked pitch black, and Zoey could hear a coughing noise inside. She wouldn't stand a chance if a smoker got it's tongue around her, and the Tank would splatter her around the tunnel, and her team wouldn't be able to tell what was Smoker, and what was Zoey. Zoey sobbed slightly as she sprinted head first into the dark cavernous mouth of the tunnel. She clicked off the light on her pistol, and breathed heavily as her vision went dark. She turned another corner in the tunnel, and then, at once, everything was black.

Zoey's feet pounded across the floor, and she winced when her hand brushed across cold clammy skin. She ignored the grunt of surprise and kept running. The Tank was still chasing her, and was obviously having no trouble pursuing its prey in the dark. There was another hacking cough, which rasped through the air extremely close, and made Zoey wince again. There came another spluttered cough, but this one was angrier, and there was fast paced, waddling footsteps form behind. The owner had a limp, but it wasn't stopping it from making chase. There was a raspy whine and Zoey felt the air above her head swish, as a tongue sprung past her. She ducked and felt the wetness brush past her neck, but she jerked her head sideways, ignoring the pain in her neck, and dodged it.

There was another hacking cough, which was suddenly echoed by ear-piercing screech which split the darkness in two. It wasn't too far away, and it bounced off the wall and reverberated endlessly. Zoey sobbed quietly, and her running slowed. A sense of hopelessness set in, as she realised how futile her attempts were. As she rounded the corner, she noticed that she could see a small rectangle of light in the distance. She blinked rapidly, and a small smile danced across her face. There was actually a train compartment, power and all, still in the middle of the tunnel. She could just about see the outline of a Hunter crouched in the distance, watching her closely. It eyed her and she licked its lips maliciously. As it pounced, Zoey was ready. The dark form flung itself through the air, and screeched as it went. Its eyes were suddenly visible under its hood, and Zoey used her strength and determination to dodge it.

She was knocked to the side by the Hunter, but it didn't make a full contact strike. It hurtled past her, waling with surprise. There was a splutter of surprise from the Smoker, who had been gaining on Zoey, and then there was a series of clattering noises and bumps and scuffling, then a few yowls of pain. Zoey quickly snuck a glance backwards at the Hunter and the Smoker who were tangled together on the floor in a misshapen heap. Zoey laughed out loud and continued to print for the train compartment up ahead. As she reached the train she leapt into the broken off doorway, and ran the full length of the train, grimacing as she tripped and stumbled over dead survivors, and their belongings.

There was a loud roar that rattled the train compartment, a loud thwack and then a loud screeching yelp of pain. There was a loud thud, from behind Zoey; the thud of bone on metal. Zoey turned around to see the dead Hunter sliding down the inside of the train compartment; its grey matter leaking through the front of its hood. Zoey was smashed back to earth, realising that although the Hunter was now out of the picture, the Tank was gaining on her indefinitely. The Smoker emerged in the doorway of the train, stepping over the dead Hunter and fixing its gaze on Zoey. It made another rasping noise, like it had made earlier, which forced Zoey to turn and run.

Zoey's feet pounded against the metal floor of the train, jarring her ankles and knees as she ran. She could hear the distant rumble of the Tank's heavy feet and fists pounding against the floor in its heavy pursuit, and the not so distant sound of the Smoker's feet shuffling across the metal floor, making similar sounds to Zoey's feet. She was faster than both of her pursuers, and was effectively using this to her advantage. Until she misplaced one of her feet, and it got tangled in between two deceased infected that were littering the train floor.

As Zoey went sprawling to the floor, she could see that the exit of the train was not so far away, and that beyond it was another smaller platform, that seemed to lead to a maintenance corridor. She felt the weightlessness of falling for the second time in the space of a couple of minutes, and then came crashing to the cold metal floor. Zoey used her hands to reduce the impact of the fall as she hit the floor, and shielded her face and chest from much of an impact, but her elbows clattered to the floor, and emitted a resounding clang on impact.

Zoey reached forward and grabbed onto a seat, forcing her fumbling and tingling fingers to grip the cold metal. She pulled herself upwards and managed to get up onto her knees. As she attempted to climb to her feet, she was almost thrown back to the ground by a sudden clatter and crash, and then the insistent rumbling and heavy drumming on metal. Zoey righted herself and clambered to her feet more urgently this time. If she didn't get out of the train, the Tank would reach her, and she would be trapped, with nowhere to run.

As Zoey began running once again she grimaced as she inhaled more of the metallic and deathly smell of the train. The constant pitter–patter of her feet on the metal floor was drilling a hole in her head. She needed it to stop. She felt claustrophobic as the train closed in around her and the exit got smaller and smaller. She was about a metre or two away from the doorway at the end of the series of compartments, and she made one big leap to escape the metal coffin. Her whole body escaped the train and she went soaring into the air out on the openness of the subway station. Before she hit the ground she smiled, but all was not well.

A thick wet tongue wrapped around the college girl's waist. She found that her forwards momentum had been immediately halted and her arms and head jerked forward in a slumping motion. She rapidly declined downwards, not capable of a safe landing on two feet. Before she hit the ground the tongue had already started to pull her backwards, and her back and rump met a solidly numbing collision with the metal of the train, from which she had recently leapt from moments before.

There was a moment of comfortable stunned silence, the warmth of the Smoker's tongue caressing Zoey tenderly against the cold train and hard floor. Then the tongue constricted and Zoey's breath was rasped out of her lungs. She struggled, and tried to pull at the tongue, forcing it to release her, but one of her arms was caught underneath it and had twisted awkwardly. She felt hopelessness creep up on her again, like it had out of the dark, and she felt her ribs straining under the pressure. Her breathing slowed down to a bare minimum and her vision darkened, her thrashing movements becoming less and less violent.

Then there was a loud crunch and the tongue loosened. A pop and then a hiss of smoke followed, and the Smoker's lifeless body flew out of the train entrance, its foot rapping Zoey on the head as it went. Smoke poured from the train and with it came the Tank. Zoey tried to scream as the Tank squeezed its large form through the door of the train, directly above her, but she had no breath in her lungs. She gasped horrifically and drew as much air into her lungs as she rolled over to avoid the Tank's cumbersome feet as they left the train.

Its huge meaty hands smashed into the ground where Zoey had once been, and Zoey drew both of her pistols from her holsters. Lying on her back, on the hard floor, one shoulder propped up on the cold metal train tracks, Zoey began firing her last shots into the Tank in an attempt to kill it. Round after round flew into its thick grey hide, and it's blood soaked Zoey. It dragged its heavy paws over to Zoey and swung them up into the air. It looked at her devilishly and then swung them down, smashing them into her petite form and sending her two guns flying and clattering over to the other side of the tracks where they lay, motionless.


	6. Pretty Torn Up

**6 – Pretty Torn Up**

Bill's war worn boots pounded across the metal floor of the train, his hard eyes set ahead of him, his rifle raised. He could hear the Tank's roar of delight that followed a sudden yelp from Zoey. A pang of worry rushed through Bill, which was followed by a surge of dread. What if it killed her? Could he live with himself? Could he cope with the guilt? The old man was brought back to earth by a loud and sickening crunch. Fear clutched at Bill's throat, as he gulped, and sped up. He rounded the corner of the train, and saw the end in view. Blocking the doorway, exiting the train, was a large grey, sickeningly knobbly mass. Without thinking, Bill opened fire.

As the Tank raised its arms for the second time, it's back burst into small ripples of bloody fire, as it was assaulted from behind. Its arms dropped uselessly to its sides, as it tried to contemplate where and how the pain was originating. It twisted its heavy, cumbersome shoulders, and its torso twisted grotesquely. As it saw the man that stood within the confines of the train, it roared again, bloodthirsty as ever.

Ignoring the small female that lay on the floor unconscious, the Tank awkwardly turned its whole body, and chased after the old man. But Bill didn't stop firing, and the Tank's front began to ripple, spurting blood out as the small bolts of fire sprinkled across his stretched and mottled skin. Bill quickly reloaded, and started to back-pedal, at a steady pace, never ceasing the constant onslaught. As the Tank came further and further into the train, it became more and more enraged. As the bullets hailed on it, and its prey kept evading his grasp, it began to thrash wildly, roaring and grunting, as its elbows and arms pounded across the metal casing of the train, warping the sides, and shattering the glass.

Bill instinctively turned and ran twenty metres further down the train slapping another magazine into his rifle. As soon as the magazine slotted into place, Bill spun back around to face the huge behemoth, and dropped to one knee. Firing wildly on the oncoming beast, Bill held his ground. The Tank became more and more frantic, getting closer and closer to Bill with it's thrashing arms, posing a massive danger to Bill's life. As the Tank came within reaching distance it swung its huge fists in Bill's direction, sloppily yet exceeding the norms of brute force. Bill leapt back at the right time, springing away from the fists, and landing on his back on the cold train floor.

The floor in front of the Tank was now slick with the blood that poured from the billions of holes that decorated its horrific mass. It balked forward exhaustedly, grunting as its huge fists slid about on the slick floor. Its lack of energy was surprising, and stunned Bill, since the infection gave everything that it infected, unlimited rage, which supplied a deadly substitute for energy, and provided a lethal solution for exhaustion. There could only be one explanation. The Tank was close to death. Bill almost smirked in triumph, but any trace was wiped off his face when the Tank spurred back into motion once more. It roared and lunged forward for Bill who scrabbled backwards, kicking at the floor with his feet to propel himself backwards. The Tank reached out for Bill, and managed to grasp one of his legs with its meaty hands. Bill screamed as he was dragged towards, the Tank, and his assault rifle slid out of reach.

Suddenly there were gunshots, which were slow and laboured. Bill counted five shots, before there was a break. As his heart pounded in his ribcage, he waited to see how the monstrous Tank would react. After a moment of back breaking silence, the gunshots sounded again, and this time, the Tank was definitely aggravated. It roared once more, and released its grip on Bill's leg. As it spun away from Bill, the old man caught a glimpse of Zoey's pale face at the end of the train. It was riddled with pain, but the determination did wonders to cover it up. The Tank lumbered towards the ruined girl, thrashing violently as it had before. But she never stopped firing. Bill reacted quickly and grabbed his assault rifle from the floor, and continued to fire heavily on the Tank's back.

The Tank died before it got to Zoey. Its heavy body slumped to its knees, and then stooped. After seconds of silence, there was the loud thud of it falling to the ground with a final thud. There was a second smaller thud, as Zoey collapsed to the floor also. Fresh fear coursed through Bill, stabbing at his frail heart and lungs. He ran to Zoey, anxiously, but was wise enough not to drop his gun. As he reached her, he leapt to her side, and knelt, placing a comforting hand under her head. Her eyes, flickered open, but this was short lived. They couldn't focus on Bill, and after a moment, they simply rolled backwards in her head.

"Zoey? Zoey!" Bill called out to her, pleading with her. He could hear her gasping breath rasping in and out of her frail form. Bill anxiously inhaled and exhaled, thinking about what he should do. Before he could act, there was a growl in the distance that forced Bill to ready his assault rifle. He scanned the darkness hopelessly, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Hunter. The growling was getting louder, obviously aware of its prey. Bill jumped to his feet and spun about anxiously. If it got him- There was loud screech, the kind that a Hunter makes when it spots you. Bill whimpered slightly, and tried to locate the Hunter before it pounced. He considered dragging Zoey back to the safety of the train compartment, but he knew he didn't have time. The Hunter screeched again, and Bill spun back round, facing the gaping maw of blackness that lay along the tracks in front of them. The light from the train provided a small pool of safety to them, but the areas beyond the small rectangle was drenched in darkness.

Suddenly, a murmur escaped from Zoey's lips. Bill glanced down to see her opening her eyes, and barely focussing them on her saviour.

"Zoey we gotta move!" Bill whispered urgently. The Hunter was lurking in the shadows, reluctant to risk its life with two survivors. It was waiting for a more opportune moment to strike. Zoey pulled herself up into a sitting position, pain allowing her to be oblivious to the Hunter's growls. She winced as she leant forward and her ribs and abdomen pressed together. Bill helped her up to her feet, and supported her. As they shuffled to the entrance of the train, Bill eyed the shadows cautiously. It was a clever Hunter, and seemed to be aware of Bill's awareness.

"Wait… That's a Hunter." Zoey whimpered as she gasped in pain. Bill noticed that her right arm was clutching onto a pistol that she had picked up before they scampered back to the train, but her left arm swung awkwardly at her side. As they stepped up onto the train, Zoey caught sight of the humongous Tank that lay dead on the floor. She sobbed as she remembered, and whimpered slightly.

"No shame kid, I woulda pissed myself too. But if we don't keep moving that Hunter back there is gonna rip us a new one." Bill's words were caught between being encouraging, and being off putting. Zoey shivered as she heard the Hunter growl, and then she almost lost her footing on the floor, still slippery with congealing Tank blood. As she tottered to the side, Bill caught hold of her. His stern hands propped her up and she took a deep breath. Before Bill could react, she spun round and started to fire off rounds from her pistol into the darkness of the tunnel. The fourth shot made contact, and there was a yelp.

Zoey almost laughed, but her ribs wouldn't let her. As the Hunter leapt from the tunnel, Bill gunned it down with his rifle.

"Nice work kid." Bill uttered, encouragingly. "Can ya walk?"

"If I have to, I guess." Zoey half heartedly smiled. Bill smiled back, and turned, to make his way slowly down the length of the train.

"You gonna be ok kid?" Bill asked awkwardly, not looking at Zoey, but keeping his eyes fixed ahead. Zoey made an unintelligible noise, and shrugged her shoulders. Her right shoulder rose just fine, but her left shoulder remained motionless. She glanced down at her arm worriedly, and realised that her shoulder had been propped up on the tracks when the Tank hit her. It was dislocated.

"Bill?" Zoey asked, fear in her voice. She knew what they had to do. She had seen it in many horror films. Bill turned, sensing her worry. "My arm, it's messed up." She turned to show him how her arm was hanging limply. He swiftly moved to her side, and traced his fingers over her shoulder.

"Damn. It's dislocated, but I've seen worse." Bill said, as he lifted Zoey's arm, making her wince in pain. "Zoey, I gotta pop it back into place, but I can't do it alone. We gotta get back to the guys."

"But Bill, what if they're…" Zoey couldn't finish the sentence. A choked sob erupted from her throat, which sent agonising pain shooting from her abdomen, causing tears to stream from her eyes.

"Zoey!" Bill shouted anxiously, as Zoey turned away from him, her teeth chattering. He put a comforting hand on her good shoulder, but she haphazardly shrugged it off and waved him away. He turned back, glancing down the tunnel, keeping his eyes peeled for any signs of life.

Zoey looked back and saw that Bill was looking away. She leant against the side of the train and sighed, the pain seeping away. She gingerly wrapped her fingers around the bottom of her jacket, and made sure that she had grasped the t-shirt with it. Steadily, she used her trembling hand to pull her jacket and t-shirt up, to unveil the damage done by the Tank. It had really done a job on her. She grimaced as her eyes followed the abstract pattern of sickening purple and spattered blue that spread mismatched across her abdomen.

The ribs had been damaged the most. All of the ribs were badly bruised, and at least two were visibly broken, in the dim and flickering light of the train. An orchestra of negative thoughts zipped through Zoey's brain, and she sobbed again. She hurt badly, and her shoulder was dislocated. She had blacked out for a moment when she hit the floor of the subway, after Francis went down. She had blacked out when the Tank hit her. She had blacked out after her and Bill killed the Tank. She blacked out once more, but lifted her head before she could slump. Her shoulder throbbed sorely, and she turned and moved towards Bill, tapping his shoulder to signal for him to move on.

It was a short walk back to the place where the Tank had first attacked, although the journey felt like it took forever. The light from Bill's flashlight that was attached to his gleaming assault rifle helped soothe Zoey however, and she felt good when the only infected to cross their path fell quickly without aggravation from a short rifle burst. They kept on moving, leaving the horror and darkness of the tunnel far behind, and advancing to the flickering station lights, and the dying flames that illuminated the walls.

As Zoey rounded the corner, she glanced up, over Bill's shoulder to see where Francis had fallen. Fear gripped her throat with its icy claws when she saw that he still lay there. She blinked as tears threatened to flow from her eyes once more. Then Zoey glanced up at the wall behind him, and saw a shadow looming over him, flickering in the dying orange lights of the flames and fire. Zoey struggled to breathe as the fear that gripped her doubled the pain she was feeling. She pushed past Bill, determined to kill the thing that was going to kill Francis, unless he was already dead, and that the thing was admiring its handiwork.

Bill was startled by Zoey as she nudged him on her way past, drawing his attention to Francis, who was slumped against the wall. He could hear a strange humming noise coming from Francis' direction, and as he advanced cautiously forward, he tuned his ears to pick up the tune. He tilted his head to the side, and after a moment, he smiled slightly. But where was Louis?

Zoey cried out with pain as her sides and ribs rattled with agony as she pulled herself up onto the platform. She spun to face the figure that was looming over Francis, and then squeezed the trigger. Louis yelped as the bullet whizzed over his head. His eyes flickered about madly, struggling to focus on his attacker. When he managed to concentrate, he saw Zoey standing in front of him, illuminated by the ambient orange light. He held his head, trying to stem the trickling blood, which was decorating his bald head. From what Zoey could see, the glass from the train had sliced his head pretty bad.

"Do I look like one of them!" Louis shouted half angrily, half dazed. Zoey shrugged a sorry at him and then spun to face Francis. He was slumped against the wall; a broad smile was plastered across his face. His head lolled to the side and he began to murmur some sort of tune. Zoey sighed with relief. He wasn't dead, like she'd thought. She was about to go to him, and comfort him, but before she could act, Bill was at his side, inspecting the large purple and black bruise on his head.

"Louis, what the hell happened?" Zoey questioned, a hint of anger threaded through her words. Louis wasn't in the mood to argue. He just smiled temporarily, and then began to form words with his lips. After an awkward moment, he began to speak.

"I was only shooting the shit out that Tank, when a Hunter got in the train somehow. It went for Bill, but only managed to knock him back." Louis' face went dark, his smile fading fast. "Then the little shit got me, and threw me against the side of the train, into the glass. That's the last thing I remembered really." He shrugged.

"Yeah, yeah, and then I got the Tank to chase me. What next?" Zoey was ruthless. Louis' feelings could be spared and he could cope with the pain. After all, she was coping.

"Well when I came to, Bill was babbling on about something, and then I got to my feet and saw him running off. I went over to Francis, but he just kept humming to himself, and acting all confused and shit." He squinted, and tilted his head slightly, in frustration. "Zoey, do you think it's bad that I have blacked out twice already today?"

"I've blacked out four times in the last ten minutes. Beat that Louis." She flashed her flirty smile at him and turned to see that Bill still trying to get Francis' attention.

"There are twenty one zombies… no… beer on the… wall! Twenty one zombies… no beer!" Francis mumbled, his words slurring some sort of tune.

"He doesn't recognise me Zoey." Bill whispered anxiously.

"Hey! Shut… shut up old guy!" Francis laughed loudly.

"We gotta move him from here, we could get mobbed down by infected, and we really don't want that." Zoey replied just as anxiously. She began to pull Francis to his feet but Bill stopped her.

"I think we better do something a little more important first." He looked at her with obvious eyes, and beckoned Louis over. She stared back confoundedly. What could be more important that getting Francis out of the subway alive? When Zoey didn't respond, Bill looked more concerned.

"Your arm, Zoey. We gotta fix that. " He murmured slowly. Zoey gasped and glanced down at her limp arm. She started to back away slowly, shaking her head, as Bill instructed Louis on what they had to do. He then reached forward and grabbed Zoey's good shoulder and yanked her forward with unnecessary force. She yelped again as Louis placed his hands on her side, pressing into her horrifically bruised ribs. She lifted his hands and placed the further down, closer to her waist, where she wasn't as hurt. Bill held onto her arm, and held it upright, sticking out awkwardly from her body.

"I was kinda hoping that Francis would do this with me, but…" He suddenly yanked Zoey's arm as hard as he could, wrenching it towards the floor. She screamed long and loud, causing both Louis and Bill to flinch. As they let her go, her scream faded into a series of yelps, which died down into heavy breathing. Her arm felt better now, and she could move it easily. She drew a second pistol from her holster, and pointed them both in the air. Her newly fixed arm couldn't lift as high as it could before, but it would do.

Suddenly, there was a loud sharp bang which sounded across the subway, and the relaxing survivors flinched and dropped their heads. An infected yelped and was thrown backwards into the air, its unnoticed momentum permanently halted. The survivors turned to see Francis standing in front of them, a broad goofy grin still spread across his face. He chuckled and swung his shotgun up so it rested on his shoulder.

"Is anyone having as much fun as I am?" He chortled.


	7. One for Sorrow

**7 – One for Sorrow**

The subway was quiet. Zoey bit back the pain that racked her body with every single step. Louis' fumbling hands wiped the sweat and blood from his brow as he struggled to turn his neck either way. Francis chuckled to himself as he tottered from side to side drunkenly. Bill winced as he glanced at the state of his team. The team he had handed to Zoey, the poor little girl who limped before him, dying. He sighed, breaking the silence. Zoey turned to look at him, and felt a wave of nausea, accompanied by pity for the old man. He was the least injured of the team, managing to ignore the jagged cut that ran down his arm, but his face was sadder than any of them. And he looked tired, so, so tired. Zoey felt obliged to break the silence.

"Not long now ladies!" she sounded somewhat preppy, and also reminiscent of Francis' safe room success jaunts. Zoey took a leaf out of Louis' book, and forced a smile onto her bruised face, simply because Louis was too hurt to do it himself. She challenged Bill's speed and valour, as she upped the pace of her plodding feet, biting back the pain that flowed from her abdomen freely and gloriously. She gritted her teeth and marched on, leading the group once more. She managed to raise her arm, and took down a zombie with three shots.

After a few painful minutes, Zoey spotted a light in the distance. It was warm and orange, but it didn't flicker like fire. She squinted and realised that it must be the exit of the subway. Relief passed over her once more, and went surprisingly far to dull the pain. As if it was possible, Zoey picked up the pace once more, almost dragging the boys with her. Although the boys didn't like to admit it, no matter how many slavering infected she peeled off them, they all saw her as the vulnerable one, and none of them wanted to be bettered by a nerdy teen girl. But Zoey had accepted that. And at least they were starting to value her as a superior. She grinned to herself, mocking her own sexist train of thought.

Zoey was suddenly propelled to the side, as Francis' drunken stupor caused him to topple sideways grasping onto Zoey for support. She gasped in pain as her ribs jolted in and out of place, sending agonising shivers down her body. She winced again, as Francis chuckled, righting himself. Zoey turned and stared into his unfocussed and glossy eyes, feeling rage and hopelessness building inside her. She slapped him. The slap must have contained some force, because it sent Francis' concussion filled head spinning to the side, his expression gormless and scared. The smile dropped from his lips, hiding itself once more, in his unruly goatee.

"You slap pretty hard, for a girl!" Francis slurred, bemusement replacing his previous fit of content hysteria. Zoey raised her hand to slap him again, but it was a mock threat. Francis flinched, and then muttered some form of apology. Zoey turned around once more, carried on walking, trying to ignore the sad expression on Bill's face. Although Zoey had thought it before; she now knew it to be true. Bill was too old for this "horseshit". She found herself thinking of the horrible things he might have encountered, but shoved them from her mind, as she realised that she didn't need to dwell on those things.

The tunnel had fallen quiet once more. There were no signs of life ahead, and things were looking up. As soon as they hit the road, they could find a car, and drive it to riverside. Zoey was so glad that they could use a car. It had been the number one rule she had forced onto the team when they had met. Do not use cars, as they only attract more zombies. But it would be ok on the open road; there wouldn't be many zombies, unlike the city, of course. The place was teeming with infected individuals. And again, irony struck, like lightening, which made Zoey grin. Every single zombie film ever, had told Zoey that the innocents always got stuck in the city, somewhere populated, and the city was always full of zombies.

Zoey trudged on, lost in her own thoughts, enjoying the chorus of their own soft padding footsteps, and the occasional twang of railway metal. Then the silence broke. It may have been broken long before Zoey realised, but she noticed eventually, and her safe haven of comforting thoughts was drained away. Fear gripped Zoey yet again, but this time, along with it, flew sadness so profound, that it shook Zoey. The steps lay in front of her, leading up, showing them the night sky, with the stars twinkling. But she didn't feel joy. She tensed, and along with her, so did the rest of her team. A solitary tear ran down Bill's cheek, before it was wiped away quickly. He was definitely too old for this.

Zoey gulped, wishing once more for a deathly silence. But it didn't grant her wish. Zoey's head hung in despair. She almost lay on the floor to die. But she couldn't. A sickness worked its way from the tips of their toes, to their brains, which, unlike any other strong emotion, failed to quell the pain. Instead the pain only swelled, and intensified. The silence was gone. And in its place, were only tears. The sobs echoed down the steps, gliding down each one, tenderly pressing itself into every nook and cranny. They swam through the air, killing all happiness in their path. But it wasn't the sound of the Witch crying that scared the team; it was the fact that it wasn't alone.

Zoey tried to separate each wail of sadness from the next; trying to pinpoint exactly how many Witches were waiting for them. When each sob ended, a different one started. Zoey ran it over in her head, and decided that she couldn't count them. She would have to look. Her mind felt like it had separated from its body, as she wandered up the steps, her feet uncertain and scared. The cries seemed to compete, as they intensified with each step. As the pain from Zoey's abdomen got worse, she battled it, while being assaulted by grim thoughts of what was to come, and feeling the pressure of the devastating sobs. Her thoughts were so utterly confused at this cruel twist of fate, and suddenly, everything seemed so much more poetic and metaphorical. As the Witches came into sight, Zoey's breath caught.

Although it only took a few seconds, it felt like Zoey had spent an eternity counting the Witches. At first, it had been hard to pinpoint where they were, because they were surrounded by white. Was it snow? It couldn't have been. Their chalky white skin did however stand out to the pitch white of the backdrop. Zoey squinted, keeping her breath caught in her throat. She didn't want to startle any of them. After another moment, Zoey counted eight pairs of glowing red eyes that bobbed up and down slowly and erratically. Zoey realised that these odds were the kind of odds that could kill you, and quickly turned back and skipped down the steps, her ribs clattering together loosely as she hobbled back to her team. She was almost at the point where the pain didn't hurt anymore, but she was still in agony.

"There's eight of 'em, and too close to sneak around." Zoey wheezed, as her lungs panged sharply with deep breaths. Francis guffawed loudly, but Zoey shot him a sharp glare. He pulled a childish face, but before he could go as far as poking his tongue out, his eyes rolled backwards in his head, and he clutched it painfully. The impact with that wall had knocked the sense out of him. Zoey considered feeding him to the Witches, to bring him back to earth, and she found herself chuckling at the thought.

She had to check herself quickly, feeling guilty once more. Perhaps it didn't matter that Francis had lost his mind, because in a way, they all had. Zoey watched as Francis waddled over to the nearest support beam to lean on it and catch his thoughts. Louis was silently cursing himself and rubbing his head. Woe didn't deserve to fall upon Louis, Zoey thought again. She had been crushed into the ground by a Tank, and Louis was complaining about a cut on his head. At least with Bill it was more psychological. Almost as though he couldn't bear killing these infected anymore. Louis of course still enjoyed killing them as much as Zoey and Francis did, but perhaps Bill was starting to see them as people more and more. Zoey tried to dwell on other things once more. What the zombies used to be, was a definite no go subject.

Her attention was brought back to Francis when he started giggling again. She looked up to him, to see him standing in the corner, his back to them, laughing. He had something in his hand, a bottle of some sort. There was the sound of a match striking alight. The realisation struck Zoey, but far too late. Francis brought his arm backwards his muscles flexing, illuminated by the light that flickered from the top of the Molotov cocktail. His face was creased in a mischievous smile. As Zoey's jaw dropped in horror, Francis' arm uncoiled, throwing the Molotov from his grasp. Zoey's eyes followed the spinning object through the air, as it spun like a Catherine wheel. It arced into the air, flying over the steps that led upwards, and disappeared through the opening that showed the night sky.

The muffled smash of the Molotov could be heard, which was instantly followed by a chorus of deathly screeches, each screech competing with the next. Zoey winced as the screams hurt her ears. There were a few moments of darkness, and then the tunnel was suddenly lit up. All eight Witches had appeared at the top of the stairs, all flailing and squealing as the flames enveloped their skin. Their hair circled their heads manically as it swung erratically from side to side, their feet stumbling purposefully, already heading for the survivors. In an attempt to put out the flames, their claws flashed about horribly, scratching at their skin. It was a horrible sight, and Zoey thought to herself, maybe this was hell.

But Action-Zoey kicked in, and she flicked her heads to her team. Louis' mouth was open, as if he was going to scream, and Bill's eyes were wide with fear, as he struggled to decide which of the attackers he should gun down first. The smile had actually been wiped from Francis' face, finally. He was obviously realising now, that what he had done was wrong, and stupid, but still like a child, he didn't think that his actions had killed him.

Ignoring the pain in her ribs, and the pain in the back of her head, Zoey dodged around Bill and Louis, who were still frozen by the sight, and darted for Francis. Her hands darted for his shiny new shotgun, and yanked it from his grasp, meeting little resistance. She sensed him drop to his knees, as she pointed the shotgun forward and fired wildly into the oncoming Witches. They had actually reached the bottom of the steps as she did this, and Bill and Louis had started to move backwards. It must have taken a lot of courage on Louis' part to not just turn around and run away.

Zoey counted nine loud bangs from the end of the shotgun, before her ammo count was spent. She tried to focus on the Witches, and tried even harder to ignore the pain she felt, every time the shotgun jerked backwards, bashing her ribs each time. On the sixth shot, a Witch's last dying scream escaping from its falling corpse. Its body managed to stumble two other Witches, which were already heading for Bill and Louis, buying them some time, as they too began to unload on the demonic things. Zoey allowed a small smile as she saw that there was at least some hope.

Spinning back to Francis, who was still on his knees, she reached forward and grabbed onto his vest pocket, wrenching it open and sending shotgun shells scattering into the air. She quickly scooped up four and loaded the first one into the gun. As she turned back to see the Witches, she gasped as a fiery Witch emerged in front of her, bringing its deadly claws in a wide arc, swiping for her abdomen. A short bark erupted from the shotgun surprisingly, and the Witches head exploded into a spray of blood. Bile rose in the poor vulnerable girl's throat, as the Witch fell. A third Witch was suddenly on Francis, the already bloody claw shredding the front of his vest, and sending smatters of blood across its rage filled face. As Francis cried out, and thudded to the cold hard train tracks, Zoey urgently loaded the shells into the gun and fired them at the Witch, aiming for the head once more. The third shot managed to kill the Witch, which slumped over Francis' legs, blood pooling onto the floor. Francis screamed as the heat of the still burning Witch scalded his legs.

As Zoey bent low to scoop up another pile of shells from the floor, she saw a whiz of white before her, and she looked up to see a flaming Witch standing above Francis, its body shaking violently, in small jerky moments, its claws raised above its head. Its claws sunk into Francis' belly, as Zoey loaded another two shells and fired them. This didn't kill the Witch, and it began to thrash back and forth wildly, its claws still buried in Francis. Zoey loaded on more shell and aimed for the head, sending the Witch keeling over, and slumping on the tracks. Zoey turned, and loaded another shell, her wrist aching. Another Witch was heading towards them, but it had already been shredded by the assault rifles, and it fell after one blast.

Before Zoey could catch her breath, there was a loud gritty scream, which came from further down the tunnel. Zoey scooped another pile of shells, ignoring Francis as he lay on the floor crying, clutching his slightly shredded stomach. There was another scream, this one higher. Zoey rounded the corner, loading the tenth shell into the shotgun. She didn't allow herself to wonder how reloading a shotgun had been so natural to her. Zoey hopped over a dead Witch, which was no longer alight, just slightly charcoaled, and then Bill and Louis came into view.

Bill was closest, with a Witch slumped in front of him, dead. He was on his back, and blood was leaking onto the tracks, from a wound in his chest. He had drawn his dual pistols, and was firing further up the tunnel. His shots were sluggish, and not very accurate, but they were still managing to shred the back of the glowing Witch that was now towering over Louis devilishly. Its claws darted forwards and Louis screamed once more. Before the Witch could begin to thrash about, Zoey fired the shotgun down the tunnel, killing the Witch in four shots.

Without hesitating, Zoey grabbed Bill, pulling him to his feet, and then sped off down the tunnel, heaving the dead Witch off Louis, and then dragging him back up. He sobbed as she yanked his arm, and grabbed his shirt collar, shouting into his face.

"Louis, I'm half your size! C'mon, get up!" Zoey was desperate. She couldn't let him die. Louis scrambled to his feet as fast as he could, which worryingly, wasn't very fast. After he was up, Zoey darted back down the tunnel to Bill, placing a hand on his shoulder, and then after she was sure he was alive, she ran to Francis.

There was a substantial amount of blood that decorated the floor around Francis, and four Witches lay close to him, definitely dead now. All flames were now extinguished, which left Francis in semi-darkness. He was mumbling and slurring, and half-humming as his head lolled from side to side. Zoey dropped to one knee, and slapped him as hard as she could. His eyes snapped open, and he panted hard. He looked genuinely terrified, and Zoey felt guilty again. His hand rose carefully to his face as if to check it was still there, and then floated gingerly over his stomach before it caressed it gently.

"Zoey? Why am I bleeding?" Francis asked, fear present in his voice.

"You startled all those Witches, Francis! Remember?" Zoey said, with venom. It was Francis' turn to look guilty, and he pulled himself up. He used the wall to support himself, and looked up, watching the sulking girl walking away from him.

"Zoey…" Francis asked apprehensively. "Did they get you?"

Zoey looked down at her stomach, and saw that there were two parallel slits running across her stomach, and the material around them was wet with blood.

"Just a scratch." She whispered, but it was loud enough for him to hear. Bill and Louis' slow footsteps padding close behind her, but she didn't turn. Her feet sped up again, and she climbed the steps without stopping. As she reached the top, confusion struck her. Before her lay a large white expanse, but it was not of snow, but of sugar. A huge tanker lay before them, with a huge hole in its side. The word DUCATEL could be seen written across it, and all of the sugar had leaked out onto the road. Zoey didn't know how this explained the Witches, but it would do for an explanation, for now.

Zoey felt a surge of pain, as her ribs started to throb madly, bringing her to her knees. The cold sharp air brought sugar up into her eyes, stinging them, and hurting the Witch inflicted wound that was spread across her stomach. She began to laugh manically, rocking backwards and forwards, tears streaming down her eyes. The pain hurt so bad, that it warped her vision, the sugar before her swirling and dancing in some sort of sick and twisted tango with her thoughts. She heard a voice, which was somewhat gruff and close, but also faint and distance. Was it her father? She looked to her right, still laughing quietly to herself, her ribs detaching from her body and jumping out of her skin with every heart beat. Then suddenly all went quiet.

To Zoey's right, stood a magnificent army SUV that had its driver side door slightly ajar. The laughing stopped, and the pain subsided. There was hope after all. She clumsily and painfully climbed to her feet, and began to make her way slowly to the SUV. She knew the way to Riverside from this station, and it would only be about 10 miles or so. If riverside was still holding out, they could get help and all their wounds would be healed. She might live to see sunlight again.

Zoey wrapped her frail hand around the bloody door handle of the SUV, and wrenched it open. With Bill's help she pulled the dead driver from the seat, leaving him in a pile on the floor. She climbed in, and wrapped her hands round the driving wheel. She reached for the ignition, but the bleeding Louis climbed in beside her, a health kit in hand, and lifted her jacket without asking. Zoey tiredly pushed his hand away, and took the health kit from him.

She whispered "Where?", and Louis pointed to an ambulance that was on its side, mere yards from where the SUV stood. Bill and Francis were limping from it, fresh blood still staining their clothes, but with as much health packs as they could carry. Zoey managed to smile as they climbed in, and as Louis took another health kit, Zoey lifted her jacket up, turning to the side, so he couldn't see. Ten minutes passed, as the survivors patched up their wounds.

Then as a collective sigh escaped their mouths, Zoey flicked the dog-tag dangling from the key absently, and then twisted it in the ignition. The car jerked as the thick wheels crunched over a dead infected that lay in the sugar, and Zoey hoped that the men wouldn't be able to hear the way her ribs clanked together painfully. Stepping down on the accelerator as hard as she could, Zoey drove off into the night, all to painfully aware of how uncertain their fates were.


	8. Ghost Town

**8 – Ghost Town**

The SUV shuddered to a halt, and the doors slid open in unison. The four decrepit figures clambered out slowly, leaving the doors wide open behind them. After a moment of silence, each reached back into the car, and slowly retrieved their gleaming weapons, that shone in the dusty street lights. Since they had been left carelessly on the seats of the SUV, they had gotten heavier, and the survivors struggled to bring them up to an aiming position.

Zoey held her single pistol in her hand which lay limp by her side. She hurt all over, and with each breath, her ribs screamed at her, causing her to gasp for breath. She was as good as dead if Riverside was already overrun. Zoey had allowed herself to cry a little when they had entered the outskirts and no army convoy had greeted them, and as they progressed in their huge SUV, there was still no sign of life.

The deserted house and the overturned lorry that blocked their path were also worrying. It was almost like everyone was already infected. The actual main part of the town stood just before them, on the other side of the lorry, and over a fence. The roofs of houses could be seen, bathed in starlight, preserved in silence. There was no sound of gunfire, like there had been in Fairfield during the first week and a half. There was no sign of infantry, patrolling the areas. It was a ghost town.

Zoey glanced up, her neck clicking and smarting as she did. The church loomed over them ominously. Light shone upwards from two small searchlights on the roof. Zoey would have allowed herself to rejoice if she wasn't so hurt and ill. She was also painfully aware that an outside source still powered all of the infected areas, making some places look idyllic and lit up, like a pretty picture. Zoey shuddered as the night air whipped around her, chilling her spine.

There was a loud thud, which was followed quickly by another, and another, which was hand in hand with the sound of splintering wood. Zoey glanced over to the house, and saw that a small opening had appeared in the door, showing an angry face that flailed about behind it. It smacked at the door again, splintering it further. Zoey winced with each sound, as did the other survivors. The slavering infected smashed down the last part of the door, and came bounding over to the survivors like a rabid dog, its darting and milky white eyes focussed on Zoey.

The poor girl looked like she was about Zoey's age, and she wore a pink jacket, similar to Zoey's but just in a lighter shade. The jacket had splashes of blood on it, and her jeans were torn to shreds. There was a loud bang, and the girl faltered, her vicious features dropping. She slowed down rapidly, and her footsteps became uneven as she staggered forward clutching her chest. An all too human look crossed over her face quickly, and she slumped to the floor, making a squelch in the muddy floor.

It was then that Zoey realised that she couldn't cope. She sunk to her knees, enjoying the softness of the squelching mud, and then balked forward, onto her stomach. The ground rushed up at Zoey but she no longer felt like she cared. She hurt so much that she felt like she could just curl up and die right there. And she tried to. After a moment of bliss, she rolled over onto her back, the pain that had been ever-present, vanished, and she let her eyes look to the stars.

She tried to think of some sort of beautiful way to describe the twinkling lights that were scattered across the heavens, but then realised that she wasn't capable. She noticed that they didn't even twinkle, but stayed still and silent, like rigid corpses, and the way they spread across the clear sky made them look rather like bullet casings. The infection had changed her too much. Perhaps it had infected her in a different way, or perhaps the bloodbaths and corpse piles had made her insane. It didn't matter now anyway, she was going to die.

As Zoey's eyes closed she heard a faint and instant sound. Was it her father again? Was he calling her? Was he beckoning her to the void? To death? Before she could find out, to rough hands grabbed her shoulders, and another two hands grabbed her legs. The sound came again, calling out to her, but this time it was closer. She allowed her eyes to open one last time.

"Zoey, I think I got it from here," Bill whispered into her ear. "You've got us this far, but I think I need to take the reins again." It was then that Zoey realised that it had been Bill calling her, not her father. An epiphany passed over her briefly, and she realised that she was closer to these estranged and outcast men, than she had ever been to anyone. They were her family.

"I can walk." She whispered back, blushing form the clichéd moment that she had just experienced. Her feet padded to the ground, and the rough and firm hands let go of her shoulders. She stood where she was and let her breath catch up with her. She looked towards the overturned lorry once again, and noticed that there was a plank of wood which rested against the side. It looked fairly traversable. Bill made the decision that Zoey was thinking about, on instinct.

"Francis, Louis, you two aint to torn up. Go check the house for supplies." He barked, like a drill sergeant, wiping a little blood onto his trouser leg as it seeped from the wound on his stomach. "We are gonna need lots of supplies if Riverside if overrun."

Zoey winced. If Riverside was overrun, she knew she wouldn't make it through there, and to the docks. Francis and Louis plodded towards the broken down door of the house. They were both tired, and still bleeding. Francis glanced back guiltily at Zoey, still incredibly remorseful for the way he had acted in the subway. Francis feeling guilty, made Zoey feel terrible, both due to the memories, and due to the fact that she had treated Francis very badly, when he was clearly delusional and concussed.

Before she realised what was happening, Bill had wrapped an arm around her and lead her up the ramp and onto the lorry. She put focus onto keeping her feet in place, as the lorry's side was sill slick with rain water. Bill, removed his assault rifle from his back, and scanned it across the dark expanse of the road towards Riverside. It ended abruptly in a military blockade, which stood just before the main entrance. Zoey glanced to the side, realising that they would have to cross the graveyard, and travel through the church.

"I suppose its good news that there is a military blockade. We haven't seen one since Fairfield." said Bill, trying to sound reassuring. They both knew full well that the infected could scale them in a matter of seconds. Zoey eyed the drop to the other side of the lorry carefully. Francis and Louis would help her down. It would be fine.

A loud roar shook the small house that stood next to the lorry, and Zoey's heart died. There were screams from inside, and images of Louis and Francis splattered across the walls flooded through Zoey's mind, but she was too weak and hurt to help. The ground shook violently, as the Tank ploughed through the house, still invisible to Bill and Zoey. There was a loud thwack, and the sound of shattering glass before Francis went face first through the window of the house, and skidded to a stop on the muddy road outside.

There was another loud roar, and as Francis tried to pull himself to his feet, gunfire roared back from inside the house. After a moment, Louis backed out of the house firing his assault rifle through the doorway he had just exited. As he came into view, Zoey could see that the rifle was struggling in his grasp, and the bullets were flying all over the place. Zoey panicked as Louis stood still on the spot, his rifle threatening to leap from his hands. A large meaty grey fist flew from the open doorway, and landed squarely on Louis' chest.

Louis' office footwear left the little house's porch and flew with him across the road to the other side, where Francis had just managed to get to his feet. They collided with a crunch, and flew backwards into a wire fence, tangled in a mass of struggling arms, legs and wire. Louis' assault rifle lay useless and helpless on the porch where it had fallen, and the Tank passed over it obliviously. Zoey tensed when she saw the huge Tank, and her hand slowly floated towards her holster. The Tank now stood in front of the house, a few yards in front of the porch which meant that the meagre tin roofing that covered the porch no longer obstructed its eye sight.

As the Tank turned, Bill's assault rifle roared into life, spraying the Tank with bullets, and peppering the house with bullet holes. Zoey also pulled out her pistol and began to fire at the Tank's huge mass. It roared to life, and spun, its heavy arms pounding across the floor and shaking the lorry. Bill's aim with the rifle was normally perfect, but this time it wasn't. The quaking ground and Bill's physical state meant that a little under half of the clip made contact.

The sound of Bill's clip hitting the metal of the lorry was followed by the sound of Zoey's pistol clip dropping also. They both reloaded rapidly, but they weren't quick enough. The Tank reached the lorry before they could begin firing, and punched at the wooden plank that had provided their only escape route. The plank when skidding off to the side, and it tore through the fence, causing a horrible scraping sound.

Zoey steadied herself, pain still quivering through her, and slid in the next clip. The lorry shook violently once more as the Tank's huge arms swung upwards and grasped onto the side. It pulled itself up onto the lorry in a matter of seconds. As it's full form came into Zoey's view, she let out a little scream, which in turn made her lungs burn, and in turn made her ribs hurt. The Tank looked much bigger than the Tank from the subway, and it seemed a little pinker in the intimate lighting of the street lamps, than the normal greyish colour that was most common. Its hair seemed to also be receding, which was unusual. But Zoey rationalised it all to being a trick of the light, and she darted to the side with as much agility as she could muster.

The Tank's huge car sized arm swung around in an arc, aiming originally for Zoey, but it missed its original target. However, it still carried on its course, swinging in a circle, and made contact with Bill's lower body. The added height of the lorry made Bill's flight last longer than the rest, and he soared right over the heads of the reassembling Louis and Francis. They followed him with their eyes, and quickly ran in his direction, always urgent to help.

Zoey stood on the lorry, alone. The Tank stood before her, partially facing away from her, almost admiring its punches. Zoey knew that she would be dead in the next few minutes. The thought washed over her in a cooling wave. She had been ready to die, and she was ready to die now. But she knew that she still had a duty. She looked into the distance, past the Tank's huge body, and looked at three injured men who were limping, crying, and trying to pull themselves up off the ground from a pile of their own blood. If she had to die, she would die protecting them. She would die protecting her family.

Zoey ignored the cliché, and tried not to blush. She turned around and jumped off the side of the lorry, with the intent of dragging the Tank in the opposite direction to the other survivors. The ground rushed up at Zoey and she landed on her knees, jarring her whole body and sending spasms of agony up and down her spine. She used her sprained bruised arms to pull herself to her feet, and began to run towards the church as fast as she could.

The ground shook violently as the Tank leapt off the lorry after her and began its chase. As the pain got worse, Zoey allowed herself to cry, and didn't bother to wipe the tears from her face. The pistol became heavy in her hand, but she trundled on, totally aware that the Tank was breathing down her neck. She looked up and made the decision to run up to the church, and there she would die. All that lay on the road straight ahead was a barricade, and cars that the Tank could use to splatter her around the place.

The sharp left turn made Zoey's stomach and chest hurt badly, and the gashes on her stomach tore a little, causing more pain. Zoey guessed that the church was just up ahead, but the pain was making Zoey's vision look all red and blurry, so she couldn't really tell. Her feet just kept padding across the floor unevenly, and she ignored the fact that the Tank was so close behind her.

Suddenly, there was a sharp pain in Zoey's back, and the gravestones that were halfway up the graveyard rushed up to meet her suddenly. There was a sick feeling in Zoey's stomach and air whipped past her face, and then she collided with the graves, breaking the first one on contact, and rolling over another two, before shattering a fourth, and then coming to a rest in front of another gravestone. Then the pain rushed in.

Zoey felt the painful imprint of the Tank's fist embedded into her back, as she lay there on her side, by the grave that had failed to break in two on contact. Then, she realised that her left arm was broken, and that she couldn't move it at all. Zoey quickly became panic stricken as she used her now good arm to push her self up to a sitting position. This caused her to cough violently, which worried her even more because blood was frothing up from her lungs with each wheeze and cough. Her lungs were hurting terribly, and she guessed that one of her ribs had finally punctured them.

Zoey spurred herself on with images of her team, helpless and beaten. She pulled herself to her feet and began to hastily make her way towards the church. She just couldn't let herself lie down and die just yet. She felt woozy on her feet, and her head was throbbing. She reached up to feel it carefully but rapped herself on the head with her pistol, which she had forgotten was in her hand.

There was a loud roar which sounded from behind her, and she panicked once more. There was no way she would reach the church at this rate. Suddenly a big red object caught her attention in the corner of her vision. It was too big to be a health kit, and a little off colour. She changed course slightly and ran towards it. She was about three quarters of the way towards the church now, and she could make out the white washed side, which was dotted with blood and bullet holes.

Glancing back down she could see that in front of her on the floor were three petrol cans, two of which were obscured by a broken gravestone. She had seen how quick petrol cans went up in flames after they had been shot, and she had also seen how quick Tanks went up in flames. She turned back to the Tank which was only a few metres in front of her, and she knew what she had to do. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and shot the petrol can that rested beneath her feet.


	9. Better Safe than Sorry

Hey guys, so this is the last chapter of Follow the Leader, and I hope you all enjoy it, and have enjoyed the rest of the story. I apologise for the lack of personal input that I could have included, and in hindsight, maybe some introductions and some author's notes would have been a good idea. Anyway, on with the final chapter!

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**9 – Better Safe than Sorry**

There was an explosion of colours ranging from flickering yellow, to dark orange. Flames splashed from the pierced petrol can, leaping in all directions and clinging to anything they could. The ground exploded into life as the flames quickly crawled across the dirt and dead grass, transforming everything in its grasp into a blackened and twisted mess. The animated petrol splashed up into Zoey's clothes and face, burning her and charring her jeans and jacket. Within seconds, the soles of Zoey's trainers had melted, letting the flames jab at her feet, smarting as they scolded her. Her pink jacket had splashes of burning petrol dotted over it, and the fire was quickly spreading from these places.

The burning and crackling sounds were temporarily drowned out by the blood thirsty roar of the Tank, as the flames quickly clambered up its mottled and flammable grey skin, turning it lightly charcoaled, and alive with flame. Now, it stood opposite the small and ruined girl who stood before it, both alight, both as good as dead. The very ground they stood on was a flaming pool of death, and the cruel flames clung to their skin and clothes. The pain that the flames were causing the Tank made it grunt angrily, and rage took over once more, as it lurched through the fire to the motionless girl who stood before him, accepting death so readily.

Zoey stood still, allowing the flames to crawl across her skin, grateful for the pain from the flames distracting her from her dying body, and ruined bones and lack of blood. She allowed herself to smile, although it hurt her bloodied lip, and broken teeth. The Tank was lurching towards her, through the fire which had spread over its body incredibly quickly. She let herself feel happy that the Tank would die by her hands even after he had smeared her across the church wall.

Then she was flying again, air zooming past her body quelling the flames slightly. The Tank that stood in his own pool of flickering lava zoomed away from her, getting smaller and smaller, and then there was another loud crunch, and then Zoey's vision went black. There was a falling sensation, and then Zoey hit the dirty gravely ground, landing with a loud thwack, and bouncing and rolling back in the direction of the burning Tank that was hell bent on murdering her.

Zoey tried to breathe, but ended up inhaling some dirt and blood. Her nose was broken, and there was a huge bruise forming on her eye. She knew instantly that her left leg was broken and she could feel the sharp bone poking through the skin of her leg. Her pistol was gone, and as she tried to feel about for it, she realised that most of her fingers were broken, along with her already broken arm. She had apparently bitten clean through her bottom lip, and all she could taste was the dirt and blood that had been stuffed into her mouth from when she had hit the ground. She tried twisting her head to the side to look at the church, and saw the dent in the wooden wall, with a smear of blood on it. That must have been where she had made contact.

All of the fear was gone from Zoey. She knew that the Tank would be on her in moments, and that she didn't have a hope in hell of surviving. The Tank had already killed her, and she knew that she was already dead. But it wasn't over yet. Using the arm that wasn't broken, she pushed into the ground, trying to lift herself off the floor. She just didn't want to lie down and die. As she managed to lift her upper body off the floor, the Tank was on her, and it brought its flaming arm down on her back, smashing her back into the ground.

The ground met Zoey with massive force, but Zoey couldn't feel the pain anymore. Her rib cage was probably shattered by now, and her lungs were probably pin cushions. She could no longer be bothered to breathe, because it was almost impossible. The Tank roared, angry that its prey wouldn't fight back. It beat its chest in frustration as pure rage coursed through its swelling veins. If there had been breath in her lungs, Zoey would have laughed at how much punishment she had taken. When she was younger, she would cry for hours after tripping and stubbing her toe, her father had chastised her time and time again, urging her to grow up, and toughen up. If only he could see her now. Bitterness passed over Zoey, and she shook it away, trying to find a more suitable last thought.

As Zoey's eyes closed, she thought of the three men who she was dying to protect. She smiled a little, eager to let death pass over her gently.

But it didn't. There was another extended louder roar, too consistent to be the roar of the Tank. There was a helpless and jarred yelp, and the Tank thudded to the floor behind her. There were the sounds of lots of men's voices, and footsteps, and the crackle of a radio. Then Zoey let the blackness take over her once more.

When Zoey's eyes fluttered open, consciousness swept over her in a painful wave. The smell of sterilisation stung her broken nose, and shredded gums, reminding her of her deceased mother and her obsessive cleaning habits that were all too compulsive at times. The pain was slowly worsening as Zoey became more and more aware of her situation. She determined which of her arms wasn't broken and then used it to pull the blanket from herself slowly and cautiously. She examined her body, and grimaced as she realised that she was a physical wreck. Thick white bandages covered major sections of her body, and as she looked down she could see thick tubes running in and out of her arms and legs, with crimson liquid seeping through them, into her skin and veins.

Zoey forced herself to crane her neck upwards, scanning the whitewashed walls and ceiling, and observing the various tools and equipment around her, all which had a medical feel to it. Was this a hospital? Zoey tried to sit herself up in bed, but the pain was too much. She was seriously screwed up. Slowly, as she lay there in the hospital bed, she remembered the flaming Tank which had tossed her about the graveyard like a toy. She gasped as she remembered Bill, Louis and Francis, but the pain in her lungs stopped her in her tracks and she had to lay her head back on the pillow and wait for the stabbing pains to dissipate.

Then there was a muffled noise and Zoey heard someone in another room say, something that sounded like "She's awake", and then there were movements, doors opening and slamming, and then anxious footsteps. Then the door to Zoey's room flung open and framed in the doorway was a weedy looking priest. Zoey blinked at the sight, thinking maybe she was delusional, but then she saw the pistol that she had strapped in a holster on his belt. It looked dangerous, which made the priest himself seem more dangerous and threatening. But he wasn't that at all. The first thing Zoey realised was that he was extremely worried about her.

He stood in the doorway for an eternity, half in half out, half anxious to comfort her and half anxious to leave her in peace. Slowly he walked into the room, his eyes cautious but also reassuring. He didn't smile, but his face looked like he was content with her, and the way she was coping with the pain. Zoey observed the black shirt which had been torn in a few places and stitched back up, recently as well. She could see that he still made an effort to uphold his position and authority, by wearing his white collar, even though it had a blotch of red on it, which at closer inspection looked to be the bloody imprint of a knuckle.

"I'm glad you are conscious… Zoey, isn't it?" said the priest, his voice soothing, the voice of every persuasive and god fearing sermon giver. Zoey mustered a nod, and offered a faint smile. He smiled back, more brilliantly, gaining confidence, and then he pulled a chair from the side of the room and sat down facing Zoey. His eyes focussed on Zoey, making her feel like she had to reply with something. Her lips opened, as if she was going to say something, but then they closed again, hesitant. She inhaled through her nose slowly, and opened her lips again, her throat rasping to life as she tried to speak. But the priest shook his head, transforming into an enigmatic figure, more by every second.

"Don't try and speak. You've been unconscious for three days, and we have done extensive surgery on your trachea which was almost crushed by that Tank," He said, his voice slow, but the facts came too fast. Zoey blinked in surprise, again.

"I know it's a lot to take in, but you'll come around." The priest said. "In fact, it's surprising that you even recovered from the attack, considering the state it left you in."

Zoey remembered all of the events which had led her on the road to physical ruin, and almost defeat. She remembered the Witches, and grimaced, feeling the thin wounds itch underneath their protective bandaging. She remembered the way that the Tank had sent her crashing though grave stones, and had left her blood stain on the side of the church. Then she remembered the noise and the light.

"Y-you? You saved me?" She whispered hoarsely, with the slightest question in her voice. The Priest nodded.

"You are very lucky. We were on a routine perimeter sweep, when we heard the noises. As soon as we rushed out to see what it was, you were lying in front of that Tank, beaten and bloody. If we hadn't opened fire right then, you would have been a carcass."

Zoey grimaced slightly at the thought. "Who are "we"?" Zoey whispered her voice clearer this time.

"Well here's the good news," said the priest, a broad grin settling onto his face. "This fine town of Riverside is now one of the only secure and uninfected areas in the whole danger zone. We have supplies, medical facilities and lots of firepower to see us though, and a group of soldiers who defected when the military started shooting… well; they were ca- I mean they were immune, so they came to help us."

Zoey couldn't help herself. She smiled, and it was genuine. But what about Bill, Francis and Louis? The priest hadn't mentioned them yet.

"Did you find my friends?" asked Zoey urgently. "The Tank scattered us, and chased me down."

"Yeah, we found them. They were in a bad shape too, but they are fine. They are already helping out the soldiers with their patrols, I do believe." He flashed another reassuring smile.

"Oh thank god!" Zoey sighed with pure relief, not just because they were alive, but because she had actually succeeded in getting her team to safety. She rested her head backwards against the pillow, and felt more relaxed as the silence washed over them. Both were content. But then two thoughts flashed over Zoey in quick succession. She sat up again; her eyes sharp once more, each question itching to be asked first.

"You're immune, right?" She asked.

"Sadly, yes. Every person who lives in New Riverside is a… an 'immune'. I'm afraid that those who weren't… umm… were weeded out pretty early on. The streets of Riverside were a battlefield, but I managed to pull through, and set up a safe haven in my church. All of the uh 'immunes' helped me hold off the horde, and once the 'immune' soldiers arrived, it was only a matter of time before we retook Riverside from the slavering infected." He took in a deep breath after he finished. It seemed like he was glad to get it off his chest, do Zoey didn't question why he spoke the word 'immune' so cautiously and unfamiliarly.

That explained why it had been so quiet. The infected had been cleaned off the streets, and the survivors had learnt to keep noise to a minimum. Zoey was content with the answer she received, but she felt a twinge in her back, and felt obliged to ask the next question quickly.

"Will I ever be able to walk again?"

There was an awkward silence.

"… It's definitely a possibility. But it won't be for another couple of weeks, maybe even months. There is no permanent damage, and we actually have a surgeon here who has done a considerable amount of work on you already," The priest had become shifty eyed and nervous. "I'll bring you a wheel chair at the end of the week and we'll get you moving about." He added, to reassure her. She smiled back at him, not fully happy with her answer but not devastated. It just meant that she wouldn't be out in the field for a while. The priest checked that she was done asking questions, and made his move to leave, but she stopped him with a simple gesture.

"Will I be able to do sniping duty, y'know… from the chair?"

The thought seemed to enlighten the priest, and he smiled and nodded, then once again turned to go.

"Umm, one more question. Why did you try so hard to save me? I could have been insane and tried to kill you or something." Zoey flashed her cheeky and nervous co-ed grin, and he flashed back a roguish smile.

"Well we have to save everyone we can. I may not be following His law as strictly now, but I still follow the basic principles. Plus, it's better to save you than be sorry later. You know what they always say, Better safe than Sorry." He winked and turned, leaving Zoey slightly confused but content with the man in whom she now had to trust.

The wheels of the wheelchair squeaked as Zoey pushed herself along the roadside. She waved to a fellow survivor as they went about their new apocalyptic daily routine. The air smelt cold and damp, as though it was threatening to rain, and she drew in a deep breath. The ramp that led up to the scaffolding before her looked monstrous, and she grimaced at the thought of pushing herself up it. She was struggling as it was, with one arm in a cast, and another badly bruised. She could hear voices coming from the scaffolding that overlooked the main entrance to New Riverside. They were arguing, muffled voices. One low and gruff, the other upbeat and higher. Zoey smiled to herself, and started to push herself forward.

The incline of the ramp was too steep to for the wheelchair, and Zoey started to panic. Every time she managed to push herself up a few meters, she seemed to roll back down. After rolling down for the 4th, or possibly the 100th time, Zoey sat there gasping and panting. She hadn't had any exercise for a week and a half, since she had fought the Tank, and had been in bed for most of the time since.

But she hadn't let the Tank beat her, and she hadn't let her physically wrecked body beat her, so she wouldn't let this ramp beat her. Once she had caught her breath, and the pain from her crushed ribs subsided, she pulled the lever that locked the wheels in tune with each other and began to work on the wheel by her non-broken arm. The exertion was extensive, and tears were forming in Zoey's eyes, as she was slowly defeated by this piece of wood. Beads of sweat were dampening her hair and face, causing them to gleam and glisten in the moonlight. And then came pure exhaustion and Zoey gave up, relaxed her tired arm, and let herself roll back down the ramp. But she stopped in her tracks. The wheelchair stayed rooted where it was, halfway up the ramp, and then it slowly began to move upwards. Was this some power of her will? Was she being moved up by her own strength of mind?

"I gotcha, don't worry," whispered Bill in her year as he took a firm grip on the handles of the wheel chair and pushed her further up. Zoey felt overwhelmed, and tried to form words in her mouth, apologies for her shortcomings, grievances for the suffering and anxiety that had befallen them, things she had wanted to say before, but couldn't, for fear of weakening herself in the eyes of Francis and Louis. Bill made a hushing sound.

"Look, I didn't want to say this in front of the guys, but," his words were hushed and effortless, but contained so much passion in them. "You did me proud out there. You did what I couldn't do. You saved us."

He pushed her to the top of the ramp, and they made a sharp turn, catching the eyes of Francis and Louis who stood at the top, guns in their hands. They both turned to her and smiled broadly.

"See! We knew you'd make it!" exclaimed Louis loudly.

"Shut up Louis!" roared Francis, "She's been out on the wheelchair for ages now." He quickly wiped the scowl off his face and leapt over to Zoey, handing her a Sniper rifle.

"I meant that she'd come on patrol duty with us!" Louis shouted back.

"As ya' can see, nothing's changed. The infected always bring out their argumentative side," chuckled Bill, his cigarette bouncing up and down in his mouth in a jolly sort of way.

Zoey laughed out loud as Francis pulled a sort of pouting scowl, and Louis chortled briefly. There was an awkward silence.

"Anyway Zoey," said Francis embarrassedly, "We wanted to say, well, that…"

"We wanted to say that we are glad that you are safe, and umm, thanks." said Louis. Bill puffed his cigarette. Francis shifted his eyes to the side, and Louis blinked rapidly.

"Umm thanks guys," Muttered Zoey, a smile stretching onto her face, yet again. "Geez, you'd think there would be nothing to smile about in the zombie apocalypse!" She laughed, and smiled at them all, but was interrupted when she saw, out of the corner of her eyes, and small group of infected in the distance, emerging from the woods, and sprinting angrily. Each shambling figure was running towards them with one purpose, and that was to inflict their rage on the survivors of New Riverside. Zoey cocked her rifle in their direction and glanced down the scope before pulling the trigger in quick succession, felling a few of them.

The three men turned to look at where she was firing, and they followed suit, all smiling. Zoey looked at Bill, who was firing off round after round. He looked back at her, and they shared a comfortable glance. Zoey turned back to her scope and continued doing what she enjoyed the most, with her friends. No wait, with her family. She couldn't help but laugh at the cliché.


End file.
